


V'Shar Forever: Fist of Ice

by Manuuk7



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Dark Character, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 04:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 65,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13696899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manuuk7/pseuds/Manuuk7
Summary: An Andorian terrorist group has seized a remote outpost and taken over two hundred Vulcan hostages. They are killing one hostage a day until Andoria leaves the Federation. Vulcan is sending a delegation and Enterprise is dispatched to prevent things from escalating between the two civilizations. Things get really tense really quickly.





	1. The Followers

_The universe of Star Trek and all related intellectual material is the property of Paramount. Some of us like to play in that universe and let our imagination run wild writing more stories. This is one of those stories._

CHAPTER I – THE FOLLOWERS

Rel Ch'Thoor-Ukh, formerly Rel Ch'Killek sat at a small dining table in a food catering place inside the main hall, looking at the hustle and bustle of the space station. The waiter came by to pick up his empty plate and Rel inclined an antenna at him in silent recognition. The waiter responded with the agreed upon antennae signal. Everything was falling into place. It wouldn't be much longer.

Rel went back to observing the flow of people hurrying in all directions under the colony's main dome, circled by the living complexes of the close to 2,000 people who resided there. Now that Andoria was part of the Federation, Andorians were no longer the only species living full-time on the colony and the population easily reached over 4,000 on any given day, what with it being the last outpost on a brisk trade route, before the ships had to traverse millions of miles of empty space. The fortunes of the outpost had multiplied a hundredfold, and the colony was a sizable source of revenues for the Andorian Empire. More grist for his mill.

A Vulcan merchant walked by, obviously on his way to the Vulcan compound, an impressive five-story building at a remove from the concentric circle of other residential dwellings. Rel sneered as he watched him go by, observing the merchant until he was just a figure in front of the compound, glaring at his silhouette as he waited by the doorlift then put his hand on the palmreader and entered the lift reserved for Vulcan citizens. In spite of their renowned telepathic abilities the man hadn't pick up on the hatred and contempt that Rel was not even bothering to hide as he glowered at him.

A weak race, needing special oh-my-god-I'm-cold accommodations because their blood couldn't handle the vivifying cool of other worlds. Their weakness expressed in their focus on being comfortable, with reserved spaces where they could hide their secret dealings in an unhealthy heat under the guise that it was difficult to constantly deal with the emotional turmoil of other species. Well, if it was that difficult, perhaps they should stay on their own planet. But then, that wouldn't work very well for his plans, would it? Rel smiled, a small cruel smile, amused by the contradiction inherent in wanting the Vulcans gone when he needed them for the next part of his plan.

His cold eyes examined the infrastructure of the dome before turning to the windowless enormous operations complex at its end. That was where monstrously large equipment created air to complement the rarified outside oxygen before mammoth-sized ventilation equipment forced it into the duct system that allowed the entire colony to breathe and conduct business as if they were on their homeworld. The surface of Sterth Vega, without being outright deadly, was barely livable, barren of vegetation or animal life under a dying sun hardly strong enough to light the surrounding darkness to a vague grey during the day.

Rel mentally reviewed the blueprints of the operations complex, the storage and meeting rooms on the floors around the machinery, the fortress-like solidity with only one ground-level means of access to minimize the risk of accident, intentional or not. Most of the space was occupied by equipment, there was only a small crew operating the complex at all times, the rest of the operations personnel was out in the dome and residential spaces, maintaining the ductwork and taking care of the relay stations positioned at each residential building.

He avoided looking at the other fortress-like building whose shape could be seen behind the operations building, but only from a certain angle. The ubiquitous security cameras would note that a single Andorian male in the eating section was showing an interest in the armory, when he shouldn't even have been aware it was an armory. But Rel knew many things about the armory and the underground tunnel connecting it to the operations complex, and it was an integral part of his plan. The operations complex and the armory were the heart and brain of the outpost. The only thing he perhaps didn't know was what kind of weapons exactly were housed in the squat building, too large to be holding only rifles and guns for the meager security force.

His antennae went up in annoyance at the thought. The security detail for the base was woefully inadequate. Andoria of old would never have sanctioned such a lackadaisical approach to security. There would be an army of squadrons marching up and down the multi-level outpost, making sure everyone knew the hand of Andoria ruled the colony at all times and keeping things in order. The Empress was a fool, thinking that just because the outpost was a haven of good behavior, with everyone having business to mind and minding their business, she could relax the security protocols. She was going to learn that one must remain hyper-vigilant, for times of peace was when war was being prepared.

But he was waxing poetic. He pushed his chair away from the eating table, getting up and stretching into a leisurely stretch, taking pleasure at feeling his muscles tight against the all-black leather outfit like those favored by Andorians of old. Another couple of Vulcans walked by, a woman and her child, also going in the direction of the Vulcan complex and he glared at them with all the animosity and contempt he could muster, daring them to read his thoughts and turn around. He was glad they didn't, he might have assaulted the bitch and her cur, and that might have derailed his plans.

Their plans. He was but the glorious captain of a vanguard group who was going to stop this madness and would be remembered in Andoria's history as the ones who brought their illustrious civilization back on track. He imagined the children learning about them in communal schools, their name and ideology being discussed in teaching groups as an ideal to uphold and as a way of life.

He left the restaurant and started on his rounds, going behind the buildings and storefronts, watching the activity from the sidelines, rechecking the location of the distributed ventilation equipment, the supplies storage areas, everything and anything related to the infrastructure and the smooth operation of Sterth Vega III. He already knew the whole layout like the back of his hand but still it was good to walk in what was soon to be his kingdom. He saw the handful of operation workers idling by the turbolift to the Vulcan residential complex and nodded his recognition. Not yet, but soon. Very soon.

They had to strike fast, like a fist sucker punches someone in the gut. That was their name, after all, Thoor-Ukh, the Fist of Ice, the name that they had all chosen as their Clan name, severing familial and tribe relationships and setting out to find others who shared their ideals, who would be willing to sacrifice family and life in order to see Andoria come back as in all its glory and finally trample Vulcan into nothingness and wipe it off their soles like so much azhoor. He trembled with rage whenever he thought about what the Empress had done, Andoria's joining the United Federation of Planets, as if Andoria had to be granted admission when it should hold its head high and the rest of the galaxy bow to it. Andoria admitted as an equal of Vulcan, the thought alone threw him into irrepressible anger.

All of them, the hundred strong of the Thoor-Ukh clan, felt just as he felt. And they would no longer be protesting alone in the dark, unseen and ignored by the vast majority of Andorians. They would soon come out on the world stage. They would, as few as they were, inflict damages out of all proportion and punish the Empress for her misguided actions. The Federation would take heed and listen, all the while going into its death throes. And Vulcan would be brought to heel. And when they saw how they were bringing pride back to Andoria, more and more followers would join them, eager to establish a new order.

He could hardly wait.

The time had come.

xXx

The station was bustling, the activity in the central dome unceasing. Lights were kept bright all day long so that no matter what the actual planetary time, travelers who stepped into the dome were stepping into a stream of constant activity and found the outpost always open for business.

Long walkways crisscrossed the dome from side to side over five levels, allowing traffic to flow in multiple directions with more mundane walkways and stairs for the last few yards to any final destination. Sterth Vega III was by necessity mostly a foot-only colony, the dome kept to a one-mile radius by the forces of nature and economy. As the resident population grew, and all indications were that it would after joining of the UFP, it might become a world-size colony but for the time being the residents liked their outpost as it was, small and on the fringe of the world and civilization, and motorized contraptions were reserved for the security forces.

Which security forces were keeping a distracted eye on offworlders, except where Vulcans were concerned, for they didn't trust them before the Federation was created and they didn't trust them now. They were generally ignoring the Andorians, the colony was a source of pride and wealth for all of Andoria and the true threat could only come from offworlders and aliens intent on undermining it.

The lights in the main dome flickered, then came back on. Rel smiled, milling about on the fifth-level, looking like any other window-shopper. That was the beginning. Five minutes later, the lights flickered again, and the people walking about started staring up at the ceiling and at the sides of the dome, wondering what was going on and checking that the dome was still stable, protecting them from the outside night. They must be starting to wonder about some kind of mechanical difficulty. This time the lights went out for two minutes before coming back on. The general flow of activity slowed to a crawl as most people waited in place for the lights to come back. Automatic messages started sounding over the station communication system, alerting everyone that there were some unknown operational issues and that repair teams were being dispatched.

Rel smiled again. The station manager must be ready to pull her antennae out, her instrumentation would be showing that everything was normal and all systems were active. But she couldn't take the risk of a catastrophic failure of the aeration system, which would turn the inside of the dome into a low-oxygen environment. With thousands of people around, it would soon devolve into general asphyxiation.

As if on cue, a general alert rang over the speakers, instructing everyone in any building, resident or otherwise, to gather under the main dome as the bypass routines redirected the air from the buildings to the central dome. As soon as the sensors detected no life signs remained in the buildings, the turbolifts and the foot entrances would snap shut, preventing anyone from entering again and the giant fan arrays circulating the air inside the buildings would slow down to a complete stop. A skeleton crew would remain in the operations building and in the armory but the majority of each outfit's personnel would have to come out and wait in the central area along with everyone else.

Operational failures were nothing to make light of and station residents as well as passing travelers knew to heed the alert, however disgruntled and unwilling they might be. Gathering in the main plaza of the center dome was a minor inconvenience but being stuck inside a building that was slowly deprived of air could be a supremely unpleasant experience, if not lethal. It took less than ten minutes for a large majority of Steth Vega III's occupants to find themselves in the central area under the dome, waiting for the repairs to be made so they could go back to whatever it was they had been doing. Rel snickered. They had no idea, did they?

He watched from his position on the fifth level as the central dome filled with more and more people, each group generally staying close to its residential building where they could quickly go back to once the crisis had been resolved and the daily visitors hewing close to the transporter pads that would shuttle or beam them back on to their vessels. The security teams assembled last, sweeping a few laggards ahead of them, and kept in the general area of the armory. They were almost making this too easy. Rel looked over at the technicians working on the giant air exchange systems right by each building. The residents had no idea the official-looking teams were not part of the operations personnel.

Soon he would give the signal and he and his followers would bring glory back to Andoria, extract it from the clutches of the United Federations of Planet, and wash the shame of Weytahn in blood. All of these people around in the station. They were all responsible for what happened, acquiescing weakly to join a despicable Federation, their cowardice allowing the Vulcans to claim a world that by all rights belonged to Andoria.

The lights came back on, giving everyone waiting under the dome hope that the issue was repaired. Rel almost laughed out at that. If they only knew. But them having a glimmer of hope would make what happened even more unsettling, adding to the general confusion and panic. He saw the first team on his left looking at him in tense anticipation. They were ready.

Rel raised his fist in the air, threw his head back and screamed out their rallying cry "UTAU!"

It had finally started.

xXx

All hell broke loose.

The fake maintenance teams spread around the residential buildings pulled guns out from under their uniforms and started firing. Other squads of gunmen ran out on the crosswalks from different levels at the same time, opening fire. Bodies fell and people started screaming. The security personnel were down in the first couple of minutes. The crowd rushed away from the attackers only to realize that they were running into another volley of fire from the other side, and stopped moving, paralyzed. The assailants started lobbing grenades and a thick smoke spread around, hiding the shooters. Mayhem erupted on the walkways with people running down the ramps to avoid the firing squads closing in on them, some jumping off directly into the void below. The fleeing victims tried to hide, dropping to the ground, cowering in wait for invisible bullets to strike them, unaware their attackers had donned infrared masks and could easily pick out the survivors. More explosions sounded and the gunfire increased in volume and frequency.

Silence fell all at once. As the smoke started clearing, a dantesque scene slowly emerged, of walkways strewn with corpses, dead bodies splayed around, floors gleaming with multi-colored blood from the many species of dead, and cowering in the center of the plaza, surrounded by heavily armed Andorians with satchels full of ammo, the shaken and scared survivors huddled together in prostration and waiting for the final blow. Rel took off his infrared mask and ambled down the fifth level all the way down to the plaza, stepping over the dead with abandon.

When he reached the ground level, his second-in-command, Oryl ch'Utau, ran to him, breathless. "We've secured the Armory. All the security personnel are dead." Rel nodded "Good job. What about the operations complex?"

"I saw Kalias on the way back. Our people have taken the facility."

"Excellent."

The speaker system came to life, squeaking with Kalias' voice "This outpost is now under the dominion of Thoor-Ukh. Do not move and you will not be hurt. We repeat, do not move and you will not be hurt." The message rang again and again, in Andorian and Standard, in an endless loop. The survivors looked at each other, afraid to believe they would not be hurt.

It was time to show them. Rel turned to Oryl "Let's go to the Vulcan compound."

He smirked as he approached the area, the many bodies of his ancestral enemies scattered in all positions on the ground. His teams had been pitiless, just as he wanted them. The rest of the Vulcans were cornered between the corpses of the dead and the shimmering wall of the dome, standing upright and staring at the line of Utau followers with assault rifles and grenades pointed at them.

Rel smiled again. All he had to do was wave a finger and there would be no Vulcans left. His antennae flat on his head, he decided it was time to have some fun "Zemi Zh'Utau!" he called.

"Leader Rel!" the petite Andorian stepped out of the line of her comrades.

"Kill one of them." He wanted to show them how it was done, how his followers would do anything he ordered. Rel nonchalantly watched as she cocked her rifle and shot down one of the Vulcans. A male. He crumpled in a heap, a green hole smoking in his chest. Rel's antennae twisted in glee at the sight. But he had other goals in mind. The Vulcans were dangerous, especially in a group. Especially if they believed they were going to die anyway.

Now was the time to put the second phase of his plan into action.

He turned to Oryl "Is everything ready? Has Katias set up the broadcast system?"

The Andorian nodded and handed Rel a small black communicator. "Anything you say in this will go directly to the speakers and to the Federation frequencies."

"How many left, do you think?"

His second hesitated "We didn't kill more than a few hundreds. So perhaps three thousand or more."

"And the Vulcans?"

"There's a little over two hundred left." Oryl was obviously pleased but Rel was frowning. That may have been a little less than he had planned. He shrugged it away. It wouldn't matter in the end.

He turned back to the communicator, checking that he knew which toggles to hit, pressed on the live feed. His voice came over the speakers, interrupting the looping message "Attention everyone, this is Leader Rel Ch'Thoor-Ukh. You are now the hostages of Thoor-Ukh. However, we wish no harm to other species in the universe." 'No', Rel thought to himself, 'only to one'. "As proof, we will release fifteen hostages for every Vulcan that surrenders freely to our forces. Once released you will immediately leave the planet." They would see to that. They didn't want any ships stationed on the planet. Not even their own. Theirs and the Vulcan ships would be used to ferry the residents away. They would pack them all to the gills, order everyone else to take as many people as they could. Rel spoke into the black box again "I repeat, we will release fifteen hostages for every Vulcan that surrenders freely to our forces."

He turned back to look at the Vulcans held at bay by his followers, smiling sardonically. Now he had their attention. Two hundred pairs of eyes were looking at him. Know thy enemy indeed. He knew that they would send one of them out, as a test. The good of the many outweighs the good of the few. He laughed to himself. Hoist with their own petard, that's what.

xXx

"How are things going?" Rel asked Oryl, who had just entered the room breathlessly. Rel had been deep in conversation with Pashat Sh'Thoor-Ukh and her team, setting things up in the operations complex and the armory.

"We found the arsenal!" Oryl exclaimed. Rel pivoted on his heels "How much?" he asked.

"Plenty enough," Oryl replied "There are grenade launchers, rocket propellers, photonic bombs…"

"Anyone know how to use the bombs?" Rel inquired. His followers were used to small individual arms, bombs were another story entirely.

Oryl shook his head. "No, but I'm sure we can figure it out."

"And the exchange?" Once the first Vulcan had surrendered himself and the first fifteen terrified hostages had been freed, getting up with their hands up and collapsing in each other's arms, Rel had let Riviass Th'Utau, his arms specialist, finish the job.

"They're almost a hundred in" Oryl answered. Rel nodded in approval. It was going slowly but the Followers were not taking any chances. Each Vulcan was disrobed of their traditional robes, searched, bound and gagged before being brought to one of two storage rooms in the armory where they were chained to a bar running the length of the room. Families were separated between the two rooms, half of them serving as hostages for the other half. Anyone did anything fancy, and they would watch the other side get annihilated. Rel wished he knew someone who could fully appreciate the full extent of his criminal genius.

"Ok, let me know when they're done." Rel watched as Oryl left the room. Riviass would have a hard time shoving over two hundred hostages into two rooms that each could hold seventy at best. And Vulcans who disliked physical proximity. My, my, my, could he make things even more unpleasant for them. He was sure he could, given enough time, but this was not a bad start.

He saw Kalias at the end of the corridor, went to talk to him "How are we doing on the air supply?" he asked.

Kalias antennae expressed his happiness "We are looking good. We have redirected the air ducts so that they bring air in the complex rather than the dome. Once that's done, I will shut off the air supply to the residential buildings and we can blow up the dome."

Rel nodded. It was good to see his followers excited.

xXx

Riviass gestured to his team and they brought the rocket propeller out, carefully calculating its position in relation to the array of powerful generators that created the central dome. Rel gave the signal and a huge explosion shook the entire structure. The generators blew up in flames and smoke. The shimmering dome glowed brighter for a few seconds then darkened, lurched a few more times between light and dark and then disappeared completely, no longer offering light and protection against the atmosphere of Sterth Vega. Everything was bathed in a dark grey night and breathing became a struggle. The destruction squads donned air masks to overcome the rarified oxygen before methodically proceeding to fire rockets at each one of the station buildings in turn. The rockets ignited the charges that they had installed at their base and in less than an hour the bustling space station had become a wasteland of half-destroyed buildings, dark masses in the grey and thin air.

Rel looked around in satisfaction. It was now impossible for anyone or any ship to approach without being seen and any ground troops would need breathing equipment, which would tire them out more quickly. They no longer had to worry as much about an organized counterattack. He gave another signal and the squads retreated up the large carrier ramp into the operations building, pulling the heavy bay doors behind them before fusing them shut with energy guns. Nothing bigger than a humanoid would be able to enter or exit the building, and only through the ordinary-looking double-doors reserved for personnel. Another safety measure against a military assault.

The operations complex was now a secured headquarters and they had over two hundred Vulcan hostages. Plenty of resources for what he had in mind. Now was the time to reach out to the world and teach all of them about honor and purity. Surrounded by a cadre of his closest followers, Rel walked over to the storage rooms, taking pleasure in the sight of so many helpless Vulcans, until his gaze fell on a young woman.

"That one" he told Shror. She had been stripped of her robe and was wearing a knee-length tunic, and Rel knew she must be cold. He had the temperature in the rooms set low enough that it would make the Vulcans miserable, without killing them.

"Come" Rel sneered at her. They escorted her out of the area, unaware of the anguished eyes that followed their every move. Even if they had not been bound and gagged, her parents would never have revealed their concern for their daughter. It was obvious that Rel was a sadistic madman and it could only have led to his enjoyment and their distress.

Shror and two others shoved the woman in a chair in the broadcast room, in front of a computer. Rel came over and passed a finger along her cheek, enjoying her statue-like lack of reaction. He handed her a padd. "Here, translate this communiqué in Vulcan." He could send her back to the storage room when she had finished translating the communiqué. Perhaps. Rel looked at her. He pushed off from where he had been sitting and walked to the door.

xXx

"Incoming message from Stafleet, sir, for your eyes only."

Archer stopped his review of the supplies order, handing the padd back to the Operations specialist standing at attention by the captain's chair. He glanced at T'Pol but her raised eyebrow only indicated she did not know what the message was about. He looked over towards Trip and Reed, who had the same nonplussed expression.

"In my ready room, Ensign" he called as he left the bridge. It was very unusual for Starfleet command to use the 'for your eyes only' classification.

"Captain Archer, Admiral Poloetl'q speaking."

Archer whistled inwardly. He had expected to see one Starfleet Admiral, not a full room of them. Based on the expression of the Admiral in the spokesperson chair, the news was grim. Archer wondered what had happened this time. Another attack like the Xindis'? Some type of interstellar catastrophe? He waited for Admiral Poloetl'q to talk, quickly remembered he already had, it was his turn to acknowledge them.

"Admirals, to what do I owe the honor?"

"We have a situation on Sterth Vega III. It is an Andorian outpost aka military fortress that sees a fair amount of interstellar traffic. Somewhat of a last stop before crossing the Andromeda Straights. Two days ago, a group of Andorian fanatics, an ultranationalist sect that goes by the name of Thoor-Ukh, that means Fist of Ice in Andorian, seized the complex. They let all the non-Vulcans go but kept the Vulcans as hostages, over two hundred of them. They demand that Vulcan withdraw from the United Federation of Planets. They gave them two days before they start executing the hostages. One by one."

"But they must know Vulcan will never accede to their demands," Archer couldn't help replying.

"We think their ultimate objective is somewhat different, and the existence of the Federation is at stake" a woman admiral interrupted. Archer remembered seeing her around, Admiral Wetjelk, a non-nonsense but brilliant strategist. "Vulcan has already dispatched starships to Sterth Vega III, they're on their way there. We expect that once they get there they will attempt a rescue mission of some kind. Historically, their rescue missions tend to come with a high body count. On both sides." Archer nodded in agreement, he had had personal experience with Vulcan's idea of 'rescue missions'.

"We believe that the goal of the terrorists is to goad the Vulcans into doing exactly that." Admiral Wetjelk was going on "There are over a hundred terrorists. Our sources indicate that's the entire membership of the group. If the Vulcans mount a rescue mission, most of the terrorists and possibly the hostages will die. This may seem perfectly acceptable but there are factions on Andoria that are stridently opposed to Andoria joining the Federation. They will seize on Vulcan killing a hundred Andorians to whip public opposition into a frenzy and the Empress may have no choice but to withdraw from the Federation. If Andoria withdraws, Vulcan may choose to withdraw also since they interpret the constitution of the Federation as preventing them from any act of war, including defending themselves against an Andorian attack. If both Andoria and Vulan withdraw…"

"… the Tellarites and the other worlds withdraw" Archer finished. It would be the end of the United Federation of Planets. He took a deep breath and eyed the roomful of Admirals with narrowed eyes. "What would you like Enterprise to do?" He didn't see quite what role they could play. The Federation had plenty of trained negotiators and ambassadors, and if Shran had once personally appealed to his presence during the events at Weytahn, or Paan Mokar, that was years ago, before the Federation was even the beginning of a gleam in his eye. And he didn't know any other Andorian than Shran so closely that they would want his presence at the negotiating table. If even there was a negotiating table. Negotiations were somewhat of a non-starter when the demands were obscenely unrealistic. Who was this Fist of Ice group anyway?

Admiral Poloetl'q took over for Admiral Wetjelk. "We want you to go to Sterth Vega III as a Federation flagship, not just Starfleet. Our hope is that the terrorists will want to talk directly with the Federation rather than Vulcan and we have specialists for whatever negotiations we can get them to engage in. We need Enterprise in orbit around the planet as the physical representation of the Federation and what it stands for. And hopefully as a dissuasive presence." The admiral paused, had the good sense to appear sheepish "Of course, you will report on any move the Vulcans make, preferably before they make it."

Archer nodded reluctantly. They were going there to carry a stick and take names. His first thought was to ask if there was not another starship that the Federation could send instead but realized that would not go over very well at all. His second thought was to point out that one of his senior officers was Vulcan, but he figured that would not go very well either. And it could create issues for T'Pol. Which she would not be grateful for at all.

"We'll be on our way. Confidentiality level?"

Admiral Wetjelk spoke up again. "The only confidential information is our analysis of the terrorists' objectives. Feel free to share the situation with your crew." She turned to the Admiral next to her, which Archer recognized as Admiral Toussaint, and he took over "Actually, the terrorists have been transmitting live feeds from the planet, we don't quite yet know why. We will send you the subspace marker for those feeds and you'll receive them directly. Initially they'll be a couple of hours late, but they'll become more real time as you get closer to the planet."

The spokesperson spoke up again "I am sending you a subspace communication with all the information we have on the outpost, the terrorist group, who we believe the hostages to be, and everything that the terrorists have been broadcasting on Federation channels. Admiralty out." The screen went dark.

Archer sighed, looking at the screen and then at the door. He reached for the intercom "Attention, this is Captain Archer. All senior officers to the command center in ten minutes." This would let them know momentous events had happened and allow him to provide a short debrief while they waited for the communication from Starfleet and the feed from Sterth Vega III.

xXx

Archer was replaying the conversation with the admirals in his head. The Andorian terrorists had said they would start killing hostages after two days. But it was going to take longer than two days for Enterprise to reach the colony. Even longer for the Vulcan ships who were starting from so further away. Did the terrorists mean two days since they seized the space station? Or two days since they first broadcast their message?

His mind briefly went to the manifesto that had been part of the transmission from Stafleet, in Vulcan, which Hoshi had translated for them all, Thoor-Ukh's beliefs that Andoria had become a degenerate and impure culture on its way to self-destruction, that the only true Andoria was an Andoria free of any offworldly influences and especially those of the hated Vulcans, with the Empress as its physical embodiment, and that Thoor-Ukh's close-knit group of Followers, as they called themselves, were ready to sacrifice themselves in order to see the resurgence of a morally righteous Andoria, what they called "Andoria-of-old".

His brow furrowed with irritation. There were groups like those all over the universe, in every civilization, idolizing the times before them as some kind of purer version of their world and striving to go back, as if they could stop the march of time. As if they understood what the 'old times' truly felt like, for the people living in them. Send any of those followers to Andoria-of-old, and they would beg on their knees to be brought back to modern civilization, if they were not killed before. It was always the same inane drivel, only the names and locations changed.

His mind went back to the timing question. No matter what, it was going to take longer than two days to get to Sterth Vega III. They had already been traveling for over twenty-four hours. They were not going to make it there in time, before the Andorians started killing the hostages. Unless the Federation had been able to reach the terrorists and get them to start talking, and maybe they would wait longer than two days. His dark broodings were interrupted by Hoshi's voice. "Ship approaching, 80 million kilometers" she called out.

"On the screen, Ensign."

"Several ships" Hoshi corrected. "Warp seven. Dropping out of warp now."

Archer and the bridge crew stared agape at the view on the screen. This was not a random ship or two, this was an armed squadron, seven Surak-class starships in formation, looking like an avenging arrow.

"Hail them, Ensign."

A Vulcan male appeared on the screen, seated in the command seat, quiet activity buzzing around him. "Human starship, please explain the reason for your intercept." The captain didn't seem annoyed in the slightest manner. Then again, he was Vulcan, he never would.

"This is Captain Archer, of the Federation Starfleet, and this is the starship Enterprise. We are on our way to Sterth Vega III" Archer let his statement stand as a question.

The Vulcan male glanced at T'Pol and his gaze came to rest on Archer. "I am Captain Soljark. We are on our way to Sterth Vega III. Which interests do you represent?"

For a split second, Archer had a sense of disorientation, as if the stars and the universe had shifted and he was Vulcan, looking with suspicion at Enterprise as an instrument of Starfleet and the Federation, unsure who were allies and who were enemies but knowing that the only ones that would be true were other Vulcans.

He glanced at T'Pol before responding, but her features gave nothing away. "Starfleet is an organization of the Federation of Planets, an association that counts in its ranks Terra, Vulcan and Andoria. The Andorians on the colony are an ultranationalist sect of Andoria and their government had disclaimed all ties to them. The Federation has dispatched us to Sterth Vega III to…" Archer hesitated, then threw all caution to the winds "…to try and prevent a war between Andoria and Vulcan, and provide any assistance we can with the hostage crisis."

Captain Soljark eyed him for a few minutes without saying anything. Archer suddenly felt how small Enterprise was in comparison to a Surak-class starship, how easy it would be for these seven behemoths of space to squash them in passing, almost as an afterthought. He felt his Adam's apple bob up and down.

The Vulcan captain broke eye contact. "We will not impede your journey. In return, we request that you step aside and let us proceed on our way."

Archer felt like glowering at T'Pol. Did her people always have to be so headstrong and self-righteous? He kept his gaze focused on the Vulcan captain, appreciating the request to step out of the way when it was so obvious the Vulcans didn't need to, that they could overrun them with a glancing shot.

"On behalf of the Federation, we ask that you refrain from any hostile action until we arrive at the colony." He hoped they'd appreciate it took some guts to make any kind of demands given the imbalance of power between them.

Captain Soljark leaned forward in his chair "The Andorian terrorists on the colony, assuming you accurately represented that they do not have the support of their government, have taken over two hundred Vulcan citizens hostage. Our objective is to save those lives, not to start a war." He straightened up again "We expect to arrive at the planet in twelve point zero eight hours. Live long and prosper."

And like that, the communication was cut off. Archer could see in his mind's eye how it would look from the outside, Enterprise standing alone like a white dove, in the way of seven le-matyas. "Ensign Mayweather, hold our position" Archer directed. He didn't know why, but he had the intuition that he shouldn't move aside, that to do so now would be exploited against the Federation in ways he couldn't quite foresee.

The seven starships facing Enterprise on the screen didn't move either. Archer felt like he was staring in the jaws of death. Then all of a sudden the lead ship, Captain Soljark's ship, leapt out of the void above Enterprise, followed by another starship while three other starships flew by on their right, on their left, and below, so close that Trip held his breath, waiting for one of them to snag one of the nacelles as they went by.

"Aft scanners!" Archer shouted.

Within seconds the ships had gone around and under Enterprise like stream water around a rock and the aft scanners showed the pinpoint acceleration of the warships entering warp seven.

"Travis, follow them" Archer bellowed. He fell back in his chair in frustration. The Vulcan ships were going at warp seven, would get to the planet within hours, and Enterprise would be lugging around at warp five.

"T'Pol, how far behind them are we going to reach the colony?!" he barked. His tone was uncharacteristically harsh and rude. He realized he was making her pay for what the Vulcan ships had done, that he was being unfair. But at that exact moment, he really didn't care, couldn't have cared less. T'Pol was already looking down her console and he had a feeling she already knew the answer, was just buying time to allow him to calm down.

He made a concerted effort to reign in his annoyance and frustration. Vulcan was going through enough with this whole hostage situation, no need to add to the collective tension. He knew that however evenly they acted, the crew on those starships, and T'Pol, were under a high level of stress. He made a note to talk to Phlox, see if there was anything to be aware of where she was concerned. She came back with an answer "We will reach the colony in sixteen point nine hours, Captain, four point eight hours behind the Vulcan ships."

Silence settled on the bridge. Archer knew that everyone was mulling over what they had seen, somewhat overwhelmed by the Vulcans' show of power. They were walking into a tense situation and they knew it. One where if they didn't play their cards right, they could end up starting a war and it would be the knell of the Federation.

A breeze.

xXx

Archer exhaled loudly, his patience wearing thin. Enterprise was going as quickly as it could and they still had eight hours to go. He looked around at the bridge crew, fresh from a night rest. Good thing too, he had a feeling the next few days - hopefully very few - would not be easy on anyone. That made him think about T'Pol but he avoided looking at her.

Phlox had reassured him that while her stress levels must be very high, she was too canny to go anywhere near Sickbay and have him figure out exactly how high, she would be able to deal with it through meditation as they were still too far from the space station for any telepathic projection to reach her. He had checked in medical journals that the collective agony of enough Vulcans could indeed be felt across the breadth of space. Once they reached Sterth Vega III he would be keeping a close eye on how things developed. And if things went bad there were always the other Vulcan ships as every Surak-class vessel carried at least one healer on board. He was starting to have a sense as to why.

Hoshi swiveled her seat around, her mouth forming the words before she even started speaking "A message for you, Captain. From Admiral Toussaint."

"In my ready room." As far as he was concerned, all communications from the admiralty from this point on were 'for your eyes only'.

"Captain Archer, we have received a new broadcast from the terrorists on Sterth Vega III. I am sending it along in a secure channel." Admiral Toussaint looked positively grey instead of his usual rich ebony color. Archer tensed up with the feeling he was not going to like what came up next. "A word of warning, Captain Archer" the Admiral looked down at the table, back up at Jonathan "the images you're going to see are fairly... graphic. Far from me to presume how you are to handle them, but I wouldn't broadcast them without advance warning." He paused, looked up again "I understand that one of your senior officers is a Vulcan."

"Commander T'Pol of Vulcan," Archer confirmed, knowing full well that the admiral knew full well she was.

Admiral Toussaint surprised him "Please express our deepest regrets for what has happened".

Archer nodded "Understood", and the screen went dark, leaving a streaming icon glowing on the screen. Archer pushed back from his desk. Message received loud and clear, no matter what, don't let T'Pol see this, not without miles of disclaimer and preferably not at all. Which meant that he couldn't show this to anyone or word would get back to her before he pressed the stop button. Which meant that he had to show it to her first.

He set his jaw. He was definitely not looking forward to watching the terrorist broadcast. If it was bad enough to force a tough senior admiral to an apology, it was probably more than he wanted to see. Archer looked at the incoming message icon on his screen, playing with the idea of opening it later. He could go back to the bridge and maintain a comfortable level of ignorance for the next couple of hours. They were too far from the colony to receive subspace transmissions until then and Enterprise was not keyed in to Federation channels but to Starfleet modulations only.

But he had a job to do, and part of it was to watch whatever material Command felt he must. He sighed and hit the icon.

xXx

The image on the screen showed a door opening and a middle-aged Vulcan man stepping through, hands bound behind his back, surrounded by a group of Andorians who were brusquely shoving and dragging him across the threshold. The Vulcan shook them off and stood straight looking at them expressionlessly yet exuding contempt. He was dressed not in official robes but in a sober high-collared thermal suit, obviously a man of social standing with an active profession, Archer guessed he could just as well be a merchant or a research scientist or a physician.

The man who Starfleet had identified as the leader of the terrorists stepped from the back of the group to the front and the Vulcan calmly stared at him. The scene cut off to the other side of the long and narrow room, showing far in the distance a thick steel pole in front of a heavily dented opaque black wall with a metallic sheen.

xXx

Archer looked around at the bridge crew, wondering if he had sufficiently warned them. This was the point when they would start wondering if they were looking at a shooting range, and hoping they were not. After watching the footage alone in his ready room, he had called Phlox. Phlox had agreed that T'Pol needed to see it before the rest of the crew. Archer gave her ample warning before he left her alone, so she wouldn't have to worry about suppressing her emotions in front of witnesses. She had come out of the screening tight-lipped and pale and had retreated to her cabin right afterwards, re-appearing on the bridge hours later only.

Archer gave her the option to leave the bridge before he showed the footage to the rest of the crew but she declined. He understood she didn't want her colleagues to start behaving differently around her, which they might feel they had to if they thought the images were so disturbing for her she couldn't bear to watch them.

He steeled himself to turn back to the screen, feeling Trip's eyes boring into him then going back to the streaming images. He hadn't been able to take Trip into his confidence, hadn't wanted to really, and he knew the engineer must be wondering what the blazes was going on that Phlox and T'Pol would be involved in but that he would be kept in the dark. Archer just had to trust that Trip would understand. Actually, he was damn sure Trip would no longer have any issues with it once the camera roll ended.

He forced himself to look back at the screen. He had seen it twice already and had hoped that things were farther along but he saw on the screen that the Vulcan male had just been walked to the steel pole.

xXx

The angle shifted and the far side of the room came into focus. The Andorians let go of the Vulcan and released the bounds holding him. He rubbed his wrists before they grabbed him again and tied him to the steel pole. Then the Andorians walked back towards the camera, joking between themselves.

The image on the screen panned out, revealing the boxy shape of a tripod-mounted rocket propeller, pointing straight at the steel pole and the Vulcan. The leader, Rel, walked into the frame, launching into a speech which Archer had already heard twice and now knew by heart.

"This is a message for the United Federation of Planets,

My name is Rel Ch'Thoor-Ukh, and I am the leader of the Followers. We denounce the sullying of Andoria perpetrated by the presence of offworlders. The Followers of Thoor-Ukh represent the purity of Andoria of old and invite anyone who still believe in the purity of our race and culture to join our organization and free themselves of any connection with the corrupt regime of the Empress. Let those who have been pirates, now become soldiers. Let those who have been fighting against their brothers now fight against the outsiders. Let those who have been wearing themselves out in body and soul now work for honor.

We demand that Andoria immediately withdraw from the Federation of Planets. We are not interested in negotiating our position and look forward to spreading our blood on the ices of Andoria.

Until Andoria's withdraws, we will execute one Vulcan citizen a day.

UTAU!"

Rel squared his shoulder and smiled at the camera, before talking to someone off-camera, antennae at the ready then leaning forward in agreement. Rel raised an arm, and lowered it. A shot of light and smoke erupted from the rocket propeller, pulverizing the Vulcan into a cloud of green flesh and blood. The camera caught it all in slow motion.

The screen went dark.

xXx

Archer looked around at the bridge crew. Hoshi's hands were pressed against her mouth in silenced horror, Travis jaw was hanging loose and the helmsman looked positively grey. T'Pol was sitting impassively, but her eyes were about twice their usual size and her skin noticeably paler. Archer turned over to Trip, staring slack-jawed at the screen just when the engineer shifted his gaze to T'Pol, eyes hardened in anger, and Reed looked like was made of marble. The junior officers on the bridge were in a state of shock. Archer knew that the news would be all over the ship before their shift was over.

"Captain!" That was Trip.

Archer turned to him, retreating behind official-speak. "The transmission was a few hours ago. We will reach the outpost in a few hours."

"What is the Federation doing to stop this?!" Trip was furious, on his account and on T'Pol's account, Archer knew as much.

"Andoria has sent a warship to Sterth Vega III, to prevent any ships from getting to the planet - in case anyone would want to join the Followers - the terrorists" he quickly corrected himself; he wasn't going to grace them with the name they chose. "They will arrive there today. The Federation hasn't heard from Vulcan at all, but we already knew how they reacted. All we can do is get there as quickly as we can" the sheer futility of what they were trying to do struck him as he said the words "to try and avoid a war between Andoria and Vulcan."

"Vulcan will not declare war against Andoria on the count of a minuscule terrorist group, however ill-intended and sanguinary." T'Pol calmly said from her station. Everyone on the bridge turned to look at her. Hoshi was the first one to voice what they were all feeling "I'm sorry" she told the Commander. T'Pol nodded, as impassive as usual.

Archer looked at her, wondering what the Vulcans were going to do. He had not shared what the admiral's core thoughts about the situation, that they needed to prevent a bloodshed. He knew better than to believe Vulcans didn't have feelings, and he knew well enough to know that their feelings tended towards violence.

If these were Humans that the terrorists were bent on massacring one by one, no matter what Starfleet said, he would be sorely tempted to blast them into oblivion first and then apologize for the misstep. And now he had seven Vulcan starships in orbit, seven captains with an arsenal of weapons at their fingertips, with emotions so intense and violent they had to be repressed at all times. They were all sitting on a powder keg, all of them.

"We know that Vulcan won't take this laying down." He simply replied. They could talk about the ramifications later. Now, as Phlox had advised him, he needed to give his crew the mental space to assimilate what they had just seen. "T'Pol, can I see you in my ready room." Since they both had already seen the footage, they were a step ahead of the rest and could start talking about what came next.

xXx

"We're in sight of Sterth Vega, Captain" Ensign Mayweather's voice rang strong and eager. He didn't know how the rest of the bridge crew felt but at this point he had a personal vendetta against the terrorists and was hoping deep inside that Enterprise would have the opportunity to knock some heads. To put it mildly.

"On the screen, Ensign".

The image of the planet zoomed into view, a round orb still too far away for much detail.

"Magnify!" Archer snapped. The image magnified over twenty times, the planet coming to look as if it were much closer to Enterprise.

"Any sign of the Vulcan ships?"

"We won't be in range for that magnitude of detail for another ten point three minutes" T'Pol informed him.

Archer didn't bother responding. That was fine by him. He was perfectly able to spend ten minutes looking at the screen. Which he did, absent-mindedly tapping his foot and scowling. Eventually, details emerged in the indistinct space surrounding the planet and they were able to identify eight starships, seven easily recognizable Vulcan ships and one lone Andorian starship facing them. Archer thought it looked like they got to the planet just in the nick of time. Already? What the hell was going on that those two people were already at each other's throats? "Any idea what's going on?" he asked Reed.

His tactical officer looked at his console "I am not detecting a weapon energy build-up on either side". He approached the screen, coming close to Archer's chair, squinting at the sight. "Perhaps they're talking?"

'Of course they're talking' Archer felt like saying. Question was, were they actually talking as in having a conversation or was it just an exchange of threats. "When will we be in range?" he asked Hoshi.

She put her hand on her left earphone "We're in range now, audio and visual."

"Hail the lead Vulcan ship and the Andorian one. Put them on splitscreen."

Within minutes the screen split into the figure of Captain Soljark on the left and an Andorian officer on the right. Captain Soljark did not look annoyed at the interruption, which Archer expected he wouldn't, though he was finding it a little old that Vulcans' expressions never changed.

"Captain Archer, of the Starship Enterprise." He announced for the sake of the Andorian captain. "We are here on behalf of the United Federation of Planets. Captain Soljark, a pleasure seeing you again, though I wish the circumstances were different. I grieve with thee and all of Vulcan." Archer couldn't repress a small feeling of satisfaction at the eyebrow that raised slightly in response to his introduction; he had scored a point. Not that this was the way or the circumstances in which he wanted to score a point, but if they were going to keep peace between Vulcan and Andoria, every last point counted. He looked at the Andorian captain "We have not met before?"

"Commander Kyres" the Andorian inclined his head. "Captain Soljark and I were discussing our respective positions" the inclination of his antennae on his head left no doubts as to the fact that this had been a contentious discussion.

"What claim does the Federation have on the current situation?" Soljark asked. Archer was fuming inside. Now of all times to challenge the Federation. Talk about allies. His long association and friendship with T'Pol made him forget how insufferable he found Vulcans to be on a daily basis.

Archer eyed him coldly "Every species who lost kin in the bloodbath on Sterth Vega III has a claim." Andoria and other worlds also had lost people in the terrorist attack. He turned to Kyres. "aAd I want to personally express my sorrow for all the Andorians who died in the attack." He went back to Soljark "The terrorist attack was aimed at the Federation. The terrorists -" he glanced over at Kyres "Sorry, the Followers -"

"Terrorists fits better" Kyres replied.

"- the terrorists want Vulcan to withdraw from the United Federation of Planets. The Federation does not want Vulcan to withdraw. That is the Federation claim on the current situation." He glared at Soljark who didn't react for a long few seconds, then imperceptibly nodded.

So the Vulcans accepted their presence at the table. Before he could pursue, Kyres interrupted.

"All of Andoria rejects Thoor-Ukh and what it stands for. The Andorians on Sterth Vega III have no connections with any Andorian clan. They have renounced their clan ties and their clans have struck their names from the ancestral books." He paused. "But Sterth Vega remains an Andorian planet and we will not allow the Vulcans to surround and blockade the planet."

"How do you propose to stop potential recruits from joining the terrorists unless you blockade the planet? A lone starship cannot prevent all access." Soljark retorted.

For a split second, Archer had a sense of disorientation, as if the stars and the universe had shifted and he was a Vulcan, looking with suspicion at Commander Kyres as an instrument of Andoria, the very planet the terrorists hailed from, unsure about the depth of their rejection of Thoor-Ukh but knowing that the only ones that could be true were other Vulcans. The disorientation lasted only a couple of seconds and he came back to his right mind with a jolt.

He didn't have time to dwell on the experience, focused on what Soljark and Kyres had said. He understood right away what the contentious discussion had been about. To the thorough Vulcans, six starships in strategic positions around the planet gave them slightly over 90% coverage, the limit of what they considered acceptable, but to the Andorians it looked and felt like an invading army. The Andorians believed in the small and nimble approach to things, but their one ship looked to the Vulcans as pale lip service to their claimed rejection of the terrorists and their creed.

 _'Think_ , Archer, _think fast_.’ Thankfully, he had always been quick on his feet. "There is only one outpost on the planet" he said "so blockading the entire planet would not be an efficient use of resources. It would be better if the ships were deployed to provide coverage around the outpost. That will ensure 100% coverage and use all available ships. Including yours," he looked at Kyres. Archer would leave it up to Reed to work out the details and back him up on that.

Archer knew that both captains would end up agreeing with him. He actually had not said anything different than what they had said, but they could listen to him because he was an outsider saying it. It was amazing how mutual distrust prevented the Vulcans and the Andorians from hearing each other. He guessed that was not so infrequent in the order of things. There must be a species out there who always misunderstood or was misunderstood by Humans. Perhaps more than one. Possibly starting with the Vulcans.

The three captains were mulling on what he said when, almost simultaneously, two voices were heard in the background: "Captain, we have a communication from the Federation" " _Ang'jmizn, sviribaya fasei Vuhlkansu_ "

Archer nodded at his counterparts "Later, captains" and motioned to Hoshi to cut off the link. "Who is it?" he asked her. Please let it not be Admiral Toussaint. Nothing personal about the admiral, but Archer didn't see how he would ever be able to get another message from Toussaint without a sense of dread.

"Starfleet. Admiral Wetjelk" Hoshi said. Archer breathed easier.

"In my ready room."

Ten minutes later, Archer emerged from his ready room, scowling. "Hoshi, hail the alien captains. Same as last time."

He was settling in his armchair when Travis called out "They're moving!"

On the screen, the Vulcan ships were moving off, at impulse power. They stopped again when they were about 25 thousand kilometers further from the planet. The Andorian ship and Enterprise were left in a closer orbit.

Archer sighed "Hoshi, belay that order. Travis, pull us off 25 thousand kilometers, same as the Vulcans." He felt Reed and Trip's eyes boring into him, was thankful T'Pol was a Vulcan, he didn't have to deal with her emotions on top of theirs.

"Captain?" that was Malcolm.

Archer responded without looking at him "The terrorists reached out to the Federation. They threatened to kill all the remaining hostages unless we move farther away from the planet." He turned to look at him "They do trust the Andorian ship to not obliterate them." He was starting to feel the Vulcans were right that Andoria's repudiation of the terrorists might be a little on the light side. It seemed he would be keeping an eye on both the Vulcans and the Andorians while the Federation tried its best to figure some kind of solution.

"Hoshi, Travis, how far do our sensors extend? Can we see what's happening on the surface?"

"Aye, sir" the helmsman responded "we could count the number of hair on the terrorists' heads."

"I want 24-hour coverage of the operations complex and the armory. Use the maps provided by Starfleet to figure out exactly what to cover. T'Pol will help you. I want to know every minute of every day what's going on on the planet and what our allies are up to." Archer turned back to Hoshi "Can we get all that on one screen?"

"Aye, captain, we'll split the screen fourways, but, sir," she looked back at him hesitantly "anything broadcast by the terrorists will override our communication systems. They're saturating the spacewaves."

She didn't need to explain further. The same thing had happened with Terra Prime and after looking into it, they had come to the conclusion that the only way to stop the transmission was to shut down all external feeds, which meant Enterprise would be deaf and blind in space, a much worse predicament.

It meant that they would lose sight of the Vulcans and the Andorians whenever there was a transmission from the planet, though. Not a welcome thought. Archer turned around to Lieutenant Reed.

"Anything we can do to keep them in our gun sights?"

"We could install a set of echolocation sensors in the command center" the tactical officer pointed out. "It will allow us to tell if they move and where, but we're not going to get the full set of functionality, the sensors won't tie back to the weapons system."

Archer nodded "That's good enough, As long as we can follow and intercept, they can explain afterwards what they were trying to do." They needed to keep an eye on all eight ships. If the Vulcans attacked and killed the terrorists, Andoria would withdraw from the Federation. If Andoria sided with the terrorists, Vulcan would withdraw from the Federation. One thing Admiral Wetjelk had not mentioned but that was now self-evident was that if the terrorists killed all the hostages and themselves, the Federation would never recover from not having defended its citizens more forcefully.

As they said, it was a no-win situation.


	2. V'Shar Forever

CHAPTER II – V’SHAR FOREVER

Archer wanted to scream at someone to stop the camera, stop the scene, this was a colossal misunderstanding, this was an obscene mistake, it had to stop. He leapt out of his chair as V'Lar reached the pole, and in a now familiar set-up was unbound then tied to the post. She looked impassively at her executors as they snickered in anticipation of what was to come. They left her tied to the pole, walked back to the rocket propeller.

Archer was trying desperately to reach Admiral Toussaint, let him know they had to find a way to stop this. The intercom was not responding and sweat was drenching his fingers, preventing him from hitting the switch as squarely as he needed.

The camera focused on V'Lar's face and Archer saw her looking straight at him, clearly heard her talk to him across the distance of space "I thought Humans were our friends." Guilt grabbed his heart in a vice-like grip.

V'Lar erupted in a cloud of green haze and Archer sat violently up, shaking, his heart racing.

"Lights!" he called. His breathing grew easier as his eyes told him he was on board Enterprise, in his bed.

It had all been a nightmare.

As he felt his adrenaline levels come back to normal and the acid recede from his stomach, he reflected on the nightmare that had been so vivid he could hardly remember having ever been this upset. Not that it was a great mystery. The terrorists had killed their third hostage this morning, a short middle-age woman with close-cropped grey hair that didn't look anything like V'Lar.

It must have been the hair. Archer passed a hand in his sweat-soaked hair. He was not going to go back to sleep anytime soon, he knew that much. If this was what watching helplessly by as the hostages kept being executed did to him, he could hardly imagine what it must be like for T'Pol...

xXx

T'Pol stared hard at the candle, willing herself to enter the meditation levels that were escaping her. Each day that passed and brought a new death required additional time to purge through her emotions and maintain an even keel.

She stared at the flickering flame, wanting it to hypnotize her into the higher levels of her mind, where she would be able to sort through the anger and anguish and disgust and contempt that threatened to awaken the ancient blood rage. She was not the only one, she could feel on the outskirts of her mind over a hundred other Vulcan minds similarly engaged in dominating the pull of their nature. The sensory loop that was created was almost a greater danger than the single acts of violence of the terrorists. It would only take one or two of them losing control to throw the entire Vulcan force into a deadly spiral of violence.

The flame kept flickering. Behind it, she could see the back wall of her quarters. A flame and a wall, both stubbornly resisting her attempts at going deeper into a meditative trance. She sighed inwardly. It would take even longer today, but eventually she would be able to reach the cooling depths of suppression, to quench and quelch the fire of her emotions. A kernel of thought started in her mind, a whisper that she knew would keep growing. What would she do if she ran out of time?

xXx

Trip woke up suddenly, clutching at his chest, wondering what it was that was oppressing him so. His first thought was concern for T'Pol. He had been leaving her alone to meditate, conscious that she needed more time to regain her balance each day and that his presence might be a source of distraction and another burden on her emotional system.

She had clamped down hard on her shields since the very first execution and he couldn't feel anything through the bond. He truly didn't know how she was faring. He could only imagine what it must take for her to maintain control. He knew that as much as she was protecting herself from the weight of his emotional lability, she was also protecting him from being overpowered by the intensity of her emotions.

He realized quickly that the weight on his chest wasn't related to her, it was the crushing anxiety of the looming day, knowing that the morning would bring yet another execution, the fourth so far, and they would all watch helplessly as it happened, unable to inflect the path of the future while the terrorists refused any and all communications from the Federation.

xXx

Rel frowned, looking over the hostages. So far he had not gotten the response he wanted. Vulcan had not withdrawn from the Federation and the communiqués he received from Andoria indicated they were not going to demand that Vulcan withdraw. His hopes that there would be a groundswell of support on Andoria, that they would understand and approve of Thoor-Ukh's defense of Andorian's honor, was not being realized. Even his belief that their message would resonate with hundreds and thousands of new followers was being disappointed, there was no indication that anyone was trying to find their way to Sterth Vega and the ships in orbit to halt any such were idle. Andoria had grown weak, a pale reflection of the glory of old.

Another unrealized hope, one he didn't share with the Followers, was that the ships of new followers would be stopped or better destroyed by the Vulcans, allowing him to let all Andoria know that Vulcans were killing their people. But there had been no ships. In the absence of a support of Thoor-Ukh by Andoria he still could work on the other side of his optimal scenario, an attack by the Vulcans. There would be no choice for Andoria but to withdraw from the United Federation of Planets.

But he had to do something fast. Vulcan and the Federation were trying to talk to him and Andoria was trying to reason with him.

Reason with him.

As if he were just some random terrorist, some illuminated soothsayer. Didn't they realize he was their savior and future? He would make them see.

His gaze caressed each hostage in turn, thinking about what it would take to push things towards the glorious ending he had imagined. His antennae suddenly perked up in happy pleasure. He had found it. Such a great twist. He couldn't wait until he showed the entire universe.

xXx

Archer was only half-surprised to see most of the bridge crew already on the bridge, even though their shift was not starting for another hour, at least. They all looked the way he felt, shaken and tired.

He nodded to T'Pol as he walked to his chair, hoping he was successful at projecting how badly he felt. Three times as bad now that in his dreams he had killed V'Lar, the Vulcan she considered to be her hero, whether she refused to acknowledge it or not.

"Andorian ship is hailing us, sir" Hoshi was already at her post. Next to her, Travis was just sitting down, fresh-shaven yet bleary-eyed, looking peevish as if he hadn't realized yet that he wasn't late, it was everyone else that was early.

Archer hesitated, debating whether to have the communication show up on the screen. But then they might lose sight of what the other ships were doing and he was not taking any chances. "In my ready room, Ensign."

Commander Kyres looked exhausted and unhappy. Strangely, this made Archer feel better. The Andorian was not in collusion with the terrorists after all.

"Captain Archer" the Andorian commander's antennae were straight on his head, indicating his neutral mode. Archer surmised this was an official communication, then. "Unfortunately, the terrorists are refusing to respond to our communications and we have not been able to make any progress in relation to the hostage situation. The Empress has asked me to reach out to you and to the Vulcans, independently, and inform you that we are willing to entertain a reprisal action against the followers." Kyres looked down to the ground, visibly upset to have to say what came next. "The Empress is indifferent to whether the action is led by Andoria, the Federation, or Vulcan."

Archer repressed a low whistle. So the Empress was giving her own people up. And he had been wondering which side the Andorians were on. There was no clearer sign that the terrorists were not aligned with Andoria. But Commander Kyres was not done yet. "As a sign of Andoria's repudiation of the terrorists, Thoor-Ukh, and everything it stands for, the Empress has asked us to move off Sterth Vega III by 25 thousand kilometers and establish the same orbit as you and Captain Soljark." He looked at Archer. "I wanted to let you know before you misconstrued our movement."

Archer nodded. He would have. "Thank you for letting me know." He was going to say something else, was striving to come up with some platitude that seemed appropriate for the moment, when Kyres interrupted him with a raised palm.

"It is the beginning of another day on Sterth Vega and I am afraid we have been unable to stay the executioner's hand yet again. Let us rejoin our crews. We need to stand with them and confront the atrocity of what my people are doing."

Archer noted the "my people". Kyres looked at him "They may be misguided and they may be abject and soulless criminals, but their skin is still blue and they are still Andorian, and all of us Andorians bear responsibility for the crimes they commit."

xXx

Archer sourly reflected that whatever else the terrorists could be accused of, procrastination was not one of them. The executions were happening around the same time every day, as if the terrorists were punching the clock. As if on cue, the images of the Vulcan ships, the Andorian ship and what was left of Sterth Vega III flickered on the main screen, which went dark. Everyone on the bridge held their breath. They knew too well what would come next.

Once again, Archer wondered if perhaps they should leave the bridge and let the executions happen without having to witness them. It was not helping anything and it was just making the bridge crew depressed, tense and anxious. Once again he came back to the same inescapable fact, that Enterprise needed to be manned and some skeleton bridge crew was necessary, which at the very least meant the Captain. As Commander Kyres had said, they needed to be with their crews. He had been very clear that, apart from the few who regrettably had to remain on the bridge, everyone else was free to step off and not have to witness the killings. T'Pol included. He was still waiting for the first one to take him up on the offer.

The screen came back to life with an image they had become uncomfortably familiar with. The camera was pointed to the doors leading into the shooting range.

xXx

The door opened and a couple was shoved in, surrounded by a group of Andorian guards. Archer stared in tense expectation. Were they going to kill the couple? Then he noticed the small child with them, no more than five years old, and his heart twisted in his chest. They were going to kill a family? He glanced over at T'Pol who was staring at the screen without any expression. Actually her lack of expression was borderline terrifying in itself.

Not a sound could be heard on the bridge. Two Andorians walked to the couple and one of them grabbed the child by the arm, his mother making a vain attempt to hold on to him before one of the terrorists pushed her back roughly with a rifle at her throat. Her husband was visibly talking to her, though they could not hear was he was saying.

The terrorist walked the child to the steel pole at the end of the room, made him turn to face the rocket propeller and clipped his arms in the restraints. He kneeled and briefly talked to the boy, whose eyes were wide as saucers.

Archer didn't remember getting up but he was already standing in front the screen, not believing what he was saying. Were they going to kill the kid? They were not, were they? They couldn't be. He turned to look at the bridge crew, seeing the truth in their reflected horror. He saw Trip looking fixedly at T'Pol, as if he were projecting his thoughts to her, then turn back to look at the unfolding scene.

On the screen, the same slow reveal they had already seen three times showed the rocket propeller coming into view with the small child looking even smaller in front of the steel pole. That would be when Rel stepped in front of the cameras to give variants of his first speech. But Rel didn't come into view. Instead, fragments of voices were heard, though nothing seemed to be happening.

Hoshi leaned into her headphones trying to use her acute hearing to get a sense of what was said. "The parents are trying to get the leader of the terrorists to choose one of them instead" T'Pol's voice cut through Hoshi's intent focus and she turned towards her, somewhat abashedly. She should have known that T'Pol with her Vulcan hearing could hear more of the conversation, especially when it was in her native language. T'Pol's face remained impassive. She could have been discussing the lifecycle of fruit flies. T'Pol's equanimity prevented Hoshi from being overwhelmed by what was happening, and she realized that there was some use to controlling one's emotions.

Suddenly some kind of commotion could be heard off-screen and everyone tensed. There was the sound of a door opening, rapid footsteps. Was it a fight? Were the parents fighting with the terrorists? Archer knew he would have, if it were his child. It wouldn't matter if he were going to die as a result.

Silence fell. The camera didn't waver from the lone small child lashed to the pole. Hoshi's heart broke. The poor kid probably had no idea what was going on. He must be terrified and now they were making him wait. This was pure torture, cruel beyond measure.

xXx

"The Empress wants to talk to you!" Oryl rushed into the shooting range, talking to Rel without saluting him first. Rel looked at Oryl. The parents were trying to plead for their kid's life, offering themselves in exchange. But the kid was the one he wanted. That would be certain to drive the Vulcans berserk.

In the meantime, he couldn't ignore a call from the Empress. No Andorian of old ever would have. "I'll be back" he told the Followers in the shooting range. They would keep an eye on the cur and his parents but the pleasure of talking directly with the Empress would be his, and his alone. He chased everyone off the operations room, made sure nobody else was in there with him, that he would be the only one she saw.

When her image appeared on the screen, surrounded by her closest aides, he fell to one knee throwing a fist forward, in the manner of the ancient Andorian salute. "Rel Thoor-Ukh, I see you. Please rise." The Empress had talked to him. She knew him. By name. Rel's heart felt like he was flying over the ices of Andoria.

Once the short communication ended, the Empress turned to Okassehr Ch'Erhitrit , her most trusted advisor. "He's a madman!" Okassehr said in a whisper. She inclined her head gravely "and that makes him even more dangerous" she softly replied. "Let us know if he did as we asked."

xXx

Rel walked back into the shooting range. He didn't like the Empress interfering with his plans but he was willing, this one time, to do as she asked. This one time only. He stared at the child's parents. It wouldn't be the same but it would still have a lot of shock value. Rel motioned to one of his men. The terrorist slowly walked back to where the child was and released the restraints. He then guided the child back, his hand on the child's shoulder quickly shaken off by the boy.

Archer felt the collective sigh of relief from his crew. A part of him was wondering whether they had simply been trying to scare the child or the parents. He was hoping that this was the one time the Leader was going to not execute anyone. Commander Kyres had contacted him while they were all waiting in front of a still image, to let Enterprise and the Federation know the reason for the interruption in the execution was the intervention of the Empress herself, trying to avert an atrocity.

As the child neared the area where the terrorists and his parents were, Rel motioned with his chin and two Andorians grabbed the mother's arms. She struggled out of their grip, talking to Rel. Her husband took a step towards her, and she stopped him with a hand on his chest. After a few seconds, she turned back to stare darkly at Rel, then looked at her husband and walked past Rel to her child.

She knelt in front to him, crossing her wrists in the family embrace. Imitating her gesture, he touched his fingertips to her and they stayed there, silently hugging, until a guard came to roughly hoist her to her feet. She freed herself from his grip, looked down at her child then at her husband, and walked to the pole, where she turned and stared at the rocket propeller. The guard next to her made a motion for the restraints then seemed to think better of it and walked back to where the child was, grabbing him by the arm to make him stand-up. His father took a step towards them and was met with a barrage of weapons raised at him.

Rel walked to the child and turned him so that he was facing his mother.

A flame shot out of the rocket propeller and she was pulverized.

The boy limply fell to his knees, arms hanging loose at his sides as if the weight of the universe had just descended onto him. The leader roughly brought him up and pushed him towards his father, who was staggering. The terrorists escorted them out and the execution room stood empty once again.

xXx

The silence on the bridge was deafening. Archer saw Hoshi had both hands covering her mouth and the shocked horror she was feeling. Travis had gone two shades of pale. Archer didn't want to turn around and look at T'Pol. He glanced over at Reed, frozen in a perfectly rigid Englishman stance. Next to him, Trip was once again looking fixedly at T'Pol. Archer found a measure of comfort in that, perhaps he was sending her subliminal messages.

He himself was not sure about his voice. "Hoshi" he was half-surprised that his voice sounded normal, he had expected to squeak a couple of octaves higher than usual. Archer cleared his throat "Get me a patch to Starfleet. ASAP. I'll take it in my ready room."

He didn't know what Starfleet was doing, but they'd better find a way to put a stop to this. Archer stepped down from his command chair, realized belatedly that put him straight in front of T'Pol. "I am sorry" he said. Uncharacteristically, she didn't reply that he had nothing to be sorry for, and once again Archer found the utter lack of emotion on her face absolutely terrifying. He glanced at Trip, who was still staring fixedly at T'Pol. Hopefully, whatever they had going on was keeping the storm at bay.

As he took the remaining steps to his ready room, he called behind him "Oh, and Hoshi, make sure to send the tapes to Starfleet also."

The emptiness of the room was a welcome respite. He sat at his desk, breathing hard, waiting to calm down, hopefully in time for the call with Starfleet, or he swore whichever Admiral called him was in for an earful.

xXx

"Captain Archer."

The Vulcan captain looked as he always had, showing no signs that he was annoyed in the slightest manner. But this time Archer noticed something slightly different about Soljark. Perhaps it was in the tautness of the skin around the eyes or the lines that seemed to underline them and that reminded him of T'Pol in the Expanse. These very subtle changes would be beyond the notice of most. He looked at T'Pol and realized why he had been reminded of her. She was showing the same subtle signs of strain. Archer made a mental note to talk to Phlox at the first opportunity. Perhaps he should tell T'Pol to leave the bridge and go to her quarters. He actually considered it but realized he had no logical reason to do so, none anyway that would survive her pointed questioning. And arbitrarily sending her to her quarters would only add to her stress. Not a good idea.

He looked back at the screen "Captain Soljark."

Suddenly, Archer had a sense of disorientation, as if he were back on the Selaya and Soljark was one of the crazed officers thinking about how they were going to corner him and kill him in a magnificent orgy of blood. The sensation disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving him unsettled. This was the third time so far, perhaps he was the one who Phlox needed to look at.

But the Vulcan captain and everyone else on the bridge didn't seem to have noticed his lapse. Not so much a lapse, but the feeling he had temporarily dipped into another dimension.

"I trust Commander Kyres has reached out to you. I wanted to talk to both of you about collaborating in a joint action against the terrorists." Archer let the words sink in, waiting.

Those were the orders of the Federation. The Followers had not responded to any communication until the Empress personally reached out to them. Which meant two things. First, that communications were actually going through and that the terrorists were simply not responding, and second, that they would respond to the Empress.

The Federation, Vulcan and Andoria were now trying to expand this first contact into an open channel of communications, through the Empress if they had to and to the extent she was willing to lower herself that way. It was most unusual, unacceptable according to Andorian customs, that the Empress converse with anyone who had not been duly introduced, or was meritorious. And here Rel, the Leader of the Followers was a common criminal, however uncommon his crimes.

Even without these difficulties, all three worlds were all too wise and established to rely on a talking cure. While the diplomats negotiated, or attempted to, the men of action would be planning an attack, or a rescue mission, whatever one chose to call it. And since odds were that the Vulcans were already well advanced in making such plans, the admiralty's hopes were that Enterprise could jump in and inject a measure of restraint in the process, perhaps not end up with everyone dead. And Andoria's participation aimed to ensure there would be no ramifications on its homeworld.

xXx

"T'Pol!" Trip caught to her in the corridor. He had tried leaving the bridge in the same turbolift but she had been faster, had pretty much flown out of there at the end of their shift. He knew that she had been holding on by the slimmest of thread all day and he had to act fast. Vulcan emotions were so much more powerful than Humans' and her control was somewhat erratic, would always be so because of the damage in the Expanse.

The Humans who watched the mother being murdered in front of her son were shocked, horrified, sad, angry and subject to so many other shades of emotions, all to be swiftly and nimbly processed on the basis of past experiences, childhood fears, personality quirks and everything that it took to be human. But a Vulcan's emotions first ran to rage, white hot anger that needed to be suppressed lest it was expressed, sweeping everything else aside. Vulcans didn't have the delicate emotional architecture to measure, quantify, feel, ordinate, build perspective or process and without suppression or meditation the anger and rage took over and hijacked the neurolytic system through a self-feeding loop that quickly led to paranoia and homicidal rage. He had to stop the loop before it built up, or it would take so much more time to bring back under control. If her neurolytic system was involved, it could bring her whole physiological system crashing down. They had already had to deal with that a couple of times, and it was a terrifying ordeal.

He reached her just as she was putting her hand on the thumbpad to her cabin, grabbed her and brought her inside, mindless of any passing crewmember, knowing already that she was hurting, blinded by anger. She stood shuddering as he quickly wrapped her in a bear hug. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay" He would be her ears and eyes and brain while she fought to attain suppression, his Human ability to deal with emotions the cool beacon that she could always come back to.

He sat down by the bed, with her still wrapped in his embrace, just being, allowing her to use his inner connectedness to process the emotions into manageable chunks and move beyond the anger.

xXx

The insistent beep wrapped itself around her senses, penetrating her hearing, finally awaking her from the deep slumber she had fallen into after Trip had helped her vanquish the emotional maelstrom and reach a meditative plane. He had left her alone afterwards, unable to block his own emotional upset and not wanting to drain her reserves.

She stared at the darkness for a little while, calling the lights when the soft dual-tone rang again, bringing with it memories long forgotten. V'Shar. She sat bold upright in her bed, finally crossing the divide to her desk and answering the hail.

Captain Soljark was on the screen. He didn't beg forgiveness for having awakened her. They were all on duty until the crisis on Sterth Vega III resolved itself, in whatever form.

"We are recalling all V'Shar operatives. You are number ten." was all he said.

She was V'Shar once and always. Once taken, the oath could never be untaken. She noted the anxiety that crept up on her, balanced by the fact she had all her memories even the ones that had been suppressed so long ago. There was nothing to fear but fear itself.

"When?"

"A shuttle will come pick you up tomorrow." Soljark didn't give an order of time. He didn't have to. She was V'Shar and that meant she would be ready no matter when.

She surmised that calls first had to be made to the Federation and Starfleet, authorizations sought and received. A courtesy from Vulcan to the Federation. It would be a small matter for T'Pau to request her presence and whenever she beckoned the Federation obeyed. She knew that Captain Soljark and the others had not even entertained a possible refusal by the Federation as a variable in their plans. As if it would stop Vulcan.

She sat staring at the dark screen for several minutes. He had said nothing about the mission they were recalling her for. She had not been an agent for over twenty years, and her training was stale. She would never be selected for an operation if there were a choice. Which made her perfectly expendable. The conclusion was self-evident. She thought about Trip, what it would do to him, what it would do to both of them.

But she had no choice. Actually, if her assumptions as to what the upcoming mission were correct, even if a choice had been provided she would have volunteered to go. That was not something she needed to disclose to Trip or anyone else. It might bring them to question her loyalty when it was not a question of loyalty. It just happened that V'Shar was doing what she herself wanted to do.

xXx

"Come in" Archer looked up and saw T'Pol come in, wondering what called her to his quarters so early in the morning. Something in the way she stood awoke a distant memory and something in him already knew why she came to see him. But he needed her to say it herself. "Yes?" he opened.

"Captain Soljark is recalling all V'Shar operatives. They will be sending a shuttle over at some point today."

"That is somewhat unexpected" Archer drily retorted "but I should have known". Part of him was yelling he should have seen it coming. He knew better than to trust the Vulcans. They were probably the ones behind the disorienting feeling he had felt on the bridge, messing with his brain. They had been messing with his family since the first time he set eyes on one. The whole thing reminded him of Pernaia Prime, and not in a good way. He glared at T'Pol, realizing she was caught between conflicting loyalties and not giving a damn.

But obviously she had learned a lot since Pernaia Prime. She did not repeat the same canned statement about being recalled, opting instead to explain "I am a V'Shar operative, Captain. It is not something that one can shed as befits one. I am oath-bound to respond."

Archer nodded softly. He understood that T'Pol's loyalty was to Starfleet ahead of Vulcan and he didn't think he would have to deal with the V'Shar question after Pernaia Prime. He should have known. It was like Section 31 and Malcolm, except that with Malcolm the people he was dealing with were still human and he had half a shot at figuring out what made them tick.

"I guess I'm about to hear from Starfleet then" he sounded pissy even to his own ears.

"The Federation has delegated all powers regarding the hostage situation to Vulcan" slight stress on the word Federation. Archer pursed his mouth. Yeah, well, she was letting him know a bigger entity than Starfleet was calling the shots. So that was it, then. The Federation had passed the hot potato to Vulcan, the good of Archer and the Enterprise be damned. He was going to be one bridge officer short, one science officer short, and without his XO, and good luck to him. Great going.

"Did they call you back specifically?" Perhaps she didn't want to go, and perhaps there was a loophole between Starfleet, the Federation and Vulcan that would allow her to gracefully and politely decline the summons. Perhaps a case of mistaken identity...?

"The Vulcan starship has recalled all V'Shar operatives in the sector" T'Pol repeated, trying to make him understand there was no way to avoid the summons.

Archer winced. She had already said that. Was she going to start repeating the same over and over again, to try and avoid answering? Unless… Perhaps there was something that was crystal clear to her that he was not getting. And then it dawned on him. How many other V'Shar operatives would there be in the sector when there were only the Vulcan starships, Enterprise, the Andorian terrorists and the Vulcan hostages. She had been specifically summoned, as directly as Vulcan could do without identifying her too openly. Which of course they wouldn't want to do if she was V'Shar.

He sighed, a muscle working in his jaw. This was not good in so many ways.

xXx

"How are they responding?" Rel asked Kalias, prospectively enjoying the global admiration that was sure to come his way now all the worlds in the United Federation of Planets knew that the Federation and Vulcan were pretentious weaklings, who let atrocities happen to their own citizens without responding.

Kalias stammered, nervously shuffling his feet, his antennae in a position of acute embarrassment.

"What?!" Rel snapped.

"Leader, I can't explain it. They are turning against us." Kalias had his eyes fixed on something in the distance, avoiding looking at Rel.

Rel stared speechlessly at him, then roughly pushed him out of the way, checking the lines of Andorian script rapidly scrolling upward as message after message filled the commscreen, each condemning the Followers, condemning him. His head was swimming. This was not how it was supposed to happen. Once the Followers of the Fist of Ice had released everyone but the Vulcans, the other species were supposed to realize the dispute did not involve them and stay uninvolved. Why had they broken their initial silence? And why now?

"Did they say why?" he asked, shocked.

"It was the child." Kalias replied. "It looks like they're feeling sorry for the whelp and the bitch that begat him."

Rel brow darkened with anger. It was a sign of how joining the UFP weakened its members that they would feel sorry just because he was a child. Why did it matter? The young would grow into an adult eventually, couldn't they see that.

"Is there nobody on our side?" he asked Kalias, disbelievingly.

Kalias shook his head "We haven't gotten any communications, but then again the Federation must be blocking those who would join us. It doesn't mean they don't want to be with us. Just that they can't." He wasn't sure if he was saying that because he believed it or because he was worried of how Rel might react.

Rel didn't reply, clenching and unclenching his fists. How couldn't they see what they were trying to achieve? The beauty and brilliance of his plans, how he was going to bring pride and purity back to Andoria. Even the Empress would end up recognizing the value of what the Followers had achieved. She would come to thank him, perhaps make him a junior consort.

xXx

"So that's it?"

Trip had expected she would at least pack. The fact she didn't pack, was not taking anything with her, made him nervous. She had been recalled by Vulcan as a V'Shar operative. She was going to step onto a Vulcan shuttle and be whisked away to one of the starships that was orbiting the planet along with them. Why hadn't she packed, at least a change of underwear? It was not like she was going to go there for a couple of hours, check the new digs, and come back.

T'Pol turned to him, feeling his quandary "This is a Starfleet uniform. Once I am on the Vulcan ship, there will be different clothes for me to wear."

"All black?" Trip bit his lip. That one had escaped him without really thinking about it. For some reason, whenever he heard about V'Shar, he thought about Asian ninjas. He had never really been able to separate the two.

Acting very out-of-character, T'Pol reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. "I do not know why V'Shar has summoned me and why they want me to become active again. But I do know I fully intend to be back."

Trip sighed, looked away. She had just brought up what he had unconsciously been avoiding, the possibility she would not come back from the mission. He didn't expect Vulcan was recalling its sleeper agents for a walk in the park. He grabbed her hand, looked at her with eyes that were moisting over, made as if to speak, but couldn't. T'Pol took a step closer to him, almost touching him, and he inclined his head to her until their foreheads were touching. They stayed in that position for several long minutes. Then T'Pol straightened up, putting a hand on his chest to lessen the impact of what she was going to say.

"I do not know what the plans are and as a V'Shar operative, it will be impossible for me to communicate with you or anyone else. Additionally, I do expect a modicum of risk to be involved. It is necessary for me to block the bond."

Seeing Trip's stricken look, she added "It is for both our sakes. There may be things you cannot be privy to or wouldn't want to be privy to." Including, unvoiced, the fact that she didn't him to be in a mental relationship with her when she died, and suffer the manner of her death. Trip could only nod, rendered mute by the emotions flooding him, the anxiety of feeling alone without the calming presence of the bond. He had gotten so used to her presence. But he understood why she had to do it.

And he knew, with crystal clarity, that this was going to suck.

xXx

Rel looked over at his core group of Followers. There was Oryl Ch'Utau, there was Kalias Th'Utau, and Pashat Sh'Thoor-Ukh, and Zemi Zh'Utau. Those were the ones he had hand-picked to be elegiazed in Andoria's future, in songs of valor that would vaunt their bravery and redeem their sacrifice.

Except that bravery and sacrifice were about to be overshadowed by effete sensibilities.

He had to play his hand carefully. He couldn't get his message across if it was drowned out by the bellyaching of weaklings. The Empress wouldn't like it if Andoria became associated with the ill-treatment of children, even Vulcan children. He could see that now. Using the child had been a mistake. But it was an honest mistake, he had only had the best of intentions. He would explain that to her and she would understand. He knew she would. And he would make sure it didn't happen again.

To show her his good faith and that he had learned and understood, as a gesture of penance, he had skipped the daily execution. There was no greater sacrifice he could lay at her feet.

"How many children among the hostages?" he asked the Followers around him. He didn't have to wait long for an answer. Pashat had inventoried the whole contingent of them. He was the one in charge of their survival and it wouldn't help the cause if the Vulcans started dying off before Rel could reach his objectives.

"Twenty-seven, Leader" Zemi replied. After her brilliant demonstration by the Vulcan compound, Rel had brought her into the inner sanctum. He frowned. That was twenty-seven hostages that were no longer of value to him. He couldn't risk having any more worlds be angry at him. That might push them further towards the Federation, quite opposite to what he had set to achieve.

He had to think. He was confident the answer would come to him, straight from the universe into his brain, like all the answers had so far. The deities favored him, they had selected him to be their spokesperson. And he was not going to fail them.

xXx

T'Pol stepped off the shuttle, taking in at a glance the activity in the hangar. It was a mostly quiet, exquisitely controlled ballet of coming and going by operational groups preparing ammunition and equipment. The shuttle had seemed to dock with the Sahriv, Captain Soljark's ship, before deftly dipping under and around and docking instead with one of the other ships. Based on her interactions with Humans, there was a high probability the bridge crew did not closely follow the visual trajectory and did not realize she was not on the Sahriv. Though at some point Lieutenant Reed may very well be tempted to examine the sensor logs and would then become aware that her location had changed. It did not matter. To be on the Sahriv or not was a difference that made no difference to Sterth Vega III, the terrorists, and the mission.

The pilot left her waiting by the shuttle. There was no need to monitor her movements on board the ship, she was V'Shar and sworn to secrecy. All senses on alert, she did not miss the unobtrusive arrival of the shortish and older woman that seemed to magically appear in front of her.

"I am Captain T'Kullyl. I will show you to your quarters to change and meditate. Your clothes await you there. First debrief meeting at 2200 in the assembly room." They walked in silence all the way to her cabin. T'Pol wondering how a ship with close to twice as many people as Enterprise could be half as noisy. The ambient calm and serenity was restful, allowed her to relax her mental shields ever so incrementally. Over time such an environment would much reduce one's stress levels.

She was in the assembly room at 2158, clad in the unfamiliar garments. By the time it was 2200 T'Pol had counted there were a hundred and twenty-six V'Shar operatives present. More than she had ever seen for a single mission. They were all standing in small groups, apparently engrossed in conversation when in fact she knew that each one of them could have said exactly at what time she came in and which foot crossed the threshold first.

Captain T'Kullyl entered the room and made her way to a short dais at one end, speaking without a microphone and without waiting for the operatives to come to attention or anybody to even look at her. There was no need. Everyone in the room was using both their ambient and focused neural networks, imprinting her presence and her words even while engaged in conversation. Those who had recently been recalled, and the young Vulcan woman was the last one but not the only one, may have to strain initially to relearn ingrained habits, but like riding a bike, the knowledge would quickly come back, the quicker the more they used it.

It didn't take long to cover the main elements of the first briefing. There would be an action on the planet, details and timing had not been solidified, and the waiting time would be an endless merry-go-round of practicing old skills and getting acquainted with the new clothes on their backs. There would be ample periods for rest and meditation. T'Kullyl needed an army of experts and the last thing she wanted was a bunch of tired operatives.

xXx

"Leader, leader" Kalias was running at him from down the corridor, breathless with excitement. "The Empress is calling."

Rel's antennae perked up on his head. After the fiasco with the Vulcan kid, damn him and all his generations, the Federation and Andoria had stopped any communication. Instead, they had been inundated with messages from other worlds telling them to cease and desist. Rel had started fearing that his plan was going awry. He hadn't planned on the wave of unpopularity that Thoor-Ukh had become subject to. He needed the Federation and Andoria to pay attention to him.

"Did she say anything?" Rel asked, turning around from where his steps had been headed, to select the next hostage. It didn't really matter if it didn't always happen exactly on the twenty-four hour mark. There was plenty of time.

Kalias shook his head. "She asked to speak to you."

xXx

One of his aides had gone to summon the leader of the Followers, and they were waiting for him. The Empress turned to look at her main advisor. "Do you think he'll listen?"

Okassehr shrugged "If he were sane, I would definitely say so. But it's hard to say."

She looked back at the screen. "If he doesn't, Andoria will be in a weakened negotiating position for a long time. We cannot afford that to happen. These are the early years, when most of the structures of the Federation are going to be decided. Any word from -?" She stopped abruptly as Rel's face materialize on the screen, repressing a shudder. Even his smile looked unhinged. In her eyes, his face would always be that of a madman.

xXx

Rel gave the Empress the Andoria-of-old salute as the screen went dark. She had asked him to spare the children. The enemy's children.

If he acceded to her request, he would look like he was noble-minded and generous when in fact the whelps were an embarrassment more than an advantage and he had been trying to figure out what to do about them. And in an unexpected move, almost too good to be true, the Empress had said she would have a proposal for him the next day. Not only would be rid of the useless children but he would get something in return.

The deities were smiling upon him. This whole chain of events was proof that the will of the universe was being expressed through him. He would regain some of the prestige he had lost and the other worlds would see him as a reasonable negotiator. All without having to lift a finger.

He chortled, stepped out in the corridor to call Oryl and Pashat. They still had a hostage to select for the day's execution.

xXx

T'Pol was in the middle of the first five-mile run of the day, which had started at 0400, same as on Vulcan. Non-stop practice and training sessions had been following each other at quick intervals. Suddenly the lights dimmed and an alert rang, warning everyone that life support systems were offline. Fortunately what was wrong did not seem to impact the gravity plating. There was no reaction to the announcement from those around her, a quick glance around informed her that there was not as much as the lift of an eyebrow, as if this was a common and expected occurrence. T'Pol looked at the closest operative running next to her, who could have easily overtaken her but seemed to safely stick to the middle of the pack. Before she could frame a question, he was talking "We have not found another way to prevent the streaming of images from the planet" he said, his face set.

Her eyes widened with the sudden realization of the time and its meaning. If she had been on Enterprise, she would be witnessing yet another execution. She could not argue against being spared the graphic details of the slow motion butchery. Against any of them being spared. If enough of the most highly trained minds among the operatives were privy to the daily atrocity, there was a distinct possibility that they could mentally highjack the official mission, bringing the starships to hurl themselves at Sterth Vega III in a blood-thirsty conflagration of death, mindless of the cost to the hostages, the terrorists, and every Vulcan mind in close vicinity. She had felt the pressure of their minds on the first couple of days aboard Enterprise and enough of it remained to let her know not all those operatives were sheltered from the executions.

She increased her gait, waiting in tense silence with the others until the life support systems came back on. The flickering of the lights as they transitioned back on seemed like the physical manifestation of the soul abruptly ripped away from the collective katra.

xXx

"Captain, Commander" Archer greeted Soljark and Kyres as he entered the conference room aboard the Sahriv. "These are my chief engineer officer, Commander Tucker and my tactical officer Lieutenant Reed." In turn, Soljark, then Kyres, introduced their aides. Archer's quick glance around the room had informed him T'Pol was not there. He had half-expected she would be, but then she was no longer under his command. He would ask Soljark about her later. He would have liked to have an ally in the room, someone who could explain what exactly the Vulcans were getting at. He knew Trip must be disappointed on a personal level.

Soljark and his aides were staring impassively at Archer and Kyres. Archer again had the out-of-body experience of being back on the Selaya, being gauged and measured for the kill by the Vulcan officers there. This time the feeling was more fleeting. He had yet to talk to Phlox about it.

Bringing his attention back to Soljark, he thought how he would feel if it were Humans that were being killed, one a day in a slow-drip torture, and he was meeting with a member of the race killing them and the representative of an organization that could or perhaps could not be trusted. He didn't think he would be all smiles and warmth.

Archer squared his shoulders. They had a lot to go through, none of which required that Soljark be happy to see them.

xXx

As they were leaving, Trip turned to Captain Soljark "If I may, Captain, what about Commander T'Pol?"

"She is our First Officer on board Enterprise" Archer quickly covered, he should have known Trip wouldn't stay quiet the whole time.

Soljark nodded "Operative T'Pol is not on this ship." Seeing the surprise on the Human's face, he explained further "The operatives are on the other ships."

"You have six ships of operatives?" Archer was shocked. He didn't even think there could be that many.

Seeing his surprise, Soljark hastened to correct, at least as much as a Vulcan would deign hasten "Four of the ships are empty, with just a skeleton crew, to carry the hostages and the terrorists back." Archer didn't dare ask if Soljark was talking live people or bodies. Thinking about it, though, it was logical. Each ship could ferry a little over a hundred people on top of the crew, and there were close to four hundred people on the planet. That still left two ships. He eyed Soljark with suspicion. Would Vulcan have dispatched over two hundred V'Shar agents to deal with the situation on Sterth Vega III? Something told him that was not exactly true but that was as much as he would be told. It would have to do for the time being.

On the shuttle on the way back, Reed finally let his irritation through "Do you know what we achieved there? Nothing. Not one dam thing. All we did was rehash what we already knew, about how impossible it is to mount any kind of action without the terrorists being aware of it. They have set up a perfect defensive position."

"Almost perfect" Archer replied. "There's always a way." He stopped himself, swiveled in his chair to look at Malcolm. "There were other reasons to go there. Andoria pretty much gave Vulcan carte blanche to do whatever is necessary."

"Do you trust Soljark to let us know what their plans are?" Malcolm was simply not happy with how things were developing. Not happy at all.

"No" Archer shook his head. "I didn't before and I certainly do not now. But now we know we don't have to keep that close an eye on Kyres. I want the Vulcan ships to be under constant supervision, all of them, night and day." He paused "And start by seeing if we can figure out what ship T'Pol is on". Trip looked up at the mention of her name.

"I wonder how she's doing" he commented. The ensuing silence was his only response.

xXx

The transition from the Enterprise to the operatives ship, the Fo-Dan, had been abrupt and T'Pol's shields were had pressed to adjust.

On the positive side, there was the physical comfort of sleeping under a dual heat-light lamp, of not feeling the cold hit her face and hands when she left her cabin in the morning, of lights that were bright enough to allow a species with poor night vision to see comfortably, and the restful sense of silence instead of the tinny clanging noises aboard Enterprise that seemed to go unnoticed by the Human crew. Counterbalancing the new sense of comfort was the isolation engendered by being the last one aboard, the unknown inherent in having very little time to become part of the subgroup of operatives that would be her new team, the strangeness of the complete and ongoing self-possession of everyone on board, even in the main dining room.

She was seated alone at a table in that dining room, sipping a cup of tea. As on Enterprise, those around her were a varied and motley assembly of individuals, each with a different personality, a different way of seeing and experiencing the reality around them, each a sliver of IDIC. But where the individuals on Enterprise were noisy and loose in their differences, on the Fo-Dan those differences were like hues in a tapestry of colors, hard to isolate and even harder to decipher. Like shades of grey that only become visible in relation to each other, their personality could be teased out over time and interactions, in the angle of a reaching hand, in the tilt of an eyebrow, in the choice of words and inflection that accompanied it. She realized she had grown accustomed to the emotional messiness of Humans and found it as entertaining as it was appalling.

If she had been human, she could have acknowledged that she missed the crew with its Human antics. Being Vulcan, it was not logical to dwell on what wasn't. She was on board a Vulcan ship as a V'Shar operative, and there were no other considerations. Trip and the Enterprise were a bubble in space and time, held in suspension until she went back to them, if she came back, but not something to actively ponder. It was illogical to spend time and energy thinking about the strangeness of finding oneself plucked from one's usual environment and dropped into a totally different one without either warning or preparation.

If circumstances had been different she might have enjoyed the familiarity and comfort of her own, the level of physical activity and intellectual stimulation that she had grown used to do without, but the overall mood was grim, a dark counterpoint to the constant training.

"You are the one posted to a Human ship." _Male, inflection from Shih'Kar, height about 6'4", thirty degrees east of her, one foot away_. T'Pol looked up from her meal, recognized the runner who had talked to her, saw in the impassiveness of his expression only interested curiosity. "I am Sverig" he introduced himself.

"Of ShikKahr?"

He nodded. "My accent is proof of it."

"I am T'Pol." The fact he had reached out let her know he also was a recently recalled operative. The ones that were still in current service knew each other already, didn't need to be introduced, and she had noticed that Sverig, like herself, tended to keep to his own.

He pointed to the tea "Is this your preferred form of the beverage?"

"It is the closest to what I am used to." T'Pol replied. Sverig sat down at the table without asking if he could join her. She could see why Vulcans had a reputation for being discourteous. Logically, if she did not want the company she would get up and leave. If she did, she would stay and talk. Asking ahead was redundant and unnecessary. She realized that perhaps she had gotten used to the illogical permission-asking and -granting. At least where sitting at one's table was concerned.

"Do you find the training to be physically strenuous?"

T'Pol was surprised by the question, more personal than she had expected, or that he had a right to ask. She shook her head as she spoke "It is rigorous, but not strenuous. Starfleet officers must maintain a degree of fitness."

Svelvek understood that he had pushed the boundaries of propriety, came back to a more neutral and less personal topic. "It is becoming quite apparent that we are going to be sent planetside."

His statement agreed with T'Pol's thoughts. Everything they had been doing so far would make sense only if they engaged directly with the terrorists in hand-to-hand combat, or close enough for short-range explosives, whereas other groups of operatives were being trained on equipment and weapons. Which meant they would have to be on the planet, on the station, or what was left of it.

"Are there more operatives than those on the Fo-Dan?" she asked, curious as to how many distinct groups had been assembled.

Sverig looked aside "I believe additional agents are posted on the Sahriv, but the Fo-Dan is the only ship with a full complement of operatives. The Rhik-Kaul, the Nekwitaya, the Ozhika and the Eshikh are for transport, and the Psthan is for redundancy."

T'Pol nodded. It made sense.

"It is a long way from Shi-Kahr" she noted. Vulcans were intensely curious and starting at Shi-Kahr, rather than asking about where he was just before he was recalled, would provide more opportunities to satisfy her curiosity.

His eyes were the same color as her mother's. In a few minutes, they had established he grew up not far from where she did and had followed a similar path, answering the call from the Ministry of Security before finding that scientific research was more to his liking and becoming an expert in offworld metals that were convertible into energy. While he had not been crossing the depths of space on a starship, his profession had led him to be posted on different colonies and he had spent most of his adult life away from Vulcan. After he left the Ministry of Security.

They were still talking when a chime announced the next time period.

xXx

Rel stared pensively at the dark commscreen, The Empress had relayed that the Vulcans offered to exchange the children for adult hostages. That could be the solution to his current dilemma. It would give him something of value, more hostages meant a lot more days to drag the Federation's feet over the coals, to make Vulcan twist and turn in agony.

They all knew the Followers' demands could not be met. But that was not the point. His objective was to infect so much pain on them that they wouldn't be able to continue as one united body. The Vulcans would always remember how the Federation had not come to their defense. Them, and every other species watching what was taking place. The Federation would come out looking weak. If the Vulcans dared attack its citizens, Andoria would have to react and counter-attack. Vulcan would lose again. The Federation would be in tatters. It was a lose-lose scenario for all. It was simply brilliant.

The kids were useless to him so trading them was the best outcome. Getting rid of them any other way may mean the other worlds would turn against the Followers, and that was not something he wanted to see happen. His only reservation was that trading them would mean another bunch of adult Vulcans to keep an eye upon, whereas the kids could be crushed like gnats. On the other hand, he thought, looking around the room at the team of Followers busy monitoring systems, and thinking of the hundred others throughout the building and in the armory, they had easily overcome two hundred Vulcans. Those who feared Vulcans were fools. They were a soft race, too busy with matters of the mind to keep themselves in fighting shape. Rel was certain they could handle more adults.

xXx

T'Pol picked herself off the floor, bouncing back on her heels, eyes tracking her opponent's every move. He was an active operative, who had been studying much more advanced forms of Suus Mahna for much longer than she ever had. The learning objective of sparring matches with the Suus Mahna experts was to develop endurance and persistence, to keep getting back up after having had the floor wiped with oneself. The matches were limited to ten rounds, ten times of being thrown or flattened, ten times of bouncing back on one's feet, no matter how painful that was, trying to seem as if one hadn't been hit at all.

The first four times had been relatively easy, the wind knocked out of her, the dull ache of harsh contact with the mats easily suppressed. She could see on the wallpadd tracking their progress that it had taken her 2.3 seconds longer to get back up after the fifth round, 3.6 seconds after the sixth round. If it took longer than five seconds, there would be another round tagged on. But if she managed to throw her opponent, the match would end right away. Her mind went back to the training sessions when they were in the expanse, how her attention had been distracted by the MACO flirting with Trip and she had found herself flat on her back with a sore jaw as a result. That had been a featherweight hit compared to the encounter with her current opponent. Odds were that she would exceed the five seconds mark.

She brought her guard up, tracking her adversary's every movement, trying to anticipate his next move and at the same time brace for the upcoming hard contact with the floor. Something Lieutenant Reed had told her came back to mind. That Vulcans in a winning match tended to swipe at their adversaries, confident that their superior mass and strength would win the day but giving up some nimbleness as a result. He had shown her how that lack of flexibility could be used to try and gain an edge, and that sometimes it might even succeed.

The V'Shar operative, who made a determinate effort to keep the match somewhat within her level, advanced on her once again. And as predicted by Lieutenant Reed, he reached out in a more muscular manner, certain to finish quickly and ever so slightly out of balance. T'Pol dropped to the floor in a highly unorthodox, unsanctioned move, reaching under him. He couldn't fight the ensuing displacement of his center of gravity and toppled more than she threw him on the floor.

Everyone on the surrounding mats stopped mid-motion in stupor. That outcome was not part of the curriculum. It could even be said it went against the educational purpose of the exercise. The Suus Mahna Master overseeing the matches quickly came over while her opponent got back up, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

"That was not a sanctioned move. Explain." The Master was stern.

T'Pol almost regretted having spent so much time with Humans. "The Senior Tactical Officer on Enterprise often incorporates moves from other fighting traditions. He is the one who developed this defense."

"We commend you for having thrown your opponent off. Does it have a name?"

T'Pol hesitated for a second "We call it the Reed Maneuver." She reflected that odds were that was the name Lieutenant Reed would have chosen, given the opportunity.

"We will incorporate the Reed Maneuver. You will show us."

xXx

Rel looked at Oryl, who had joined him for the negotiations "What do you think, should we do it?" he asked his second.

Oryl's antennae briefly went towards the back of his head. "But I thought we agreed" he hazarded.

Rel shrugged "I am the One and I can change my mind at any time until we do the exchange." Oryl stared mutely at his Leader, a frown creasing his brow. Part of him wanted to remind his friend and comrade-in-arms not to bury himself in the role. And part of him was wondering whether perhaps their initial joint initiative to bring Andoria back to the ways of old was no longer so joint. Could there be another side to Rel, where he believed himself to be above the Followers, not just their leader? Was that the reason Oryl shied away from saying what he thought to his old-time friend, that perhaps he was worried about what might happen, about what Rel might do?

Fortunately there was no time to dwell on such thoughts. "Should we have held off for more?" Rel asked. Oryl decided that if Rel did indeed believe himself to be superior to the Followers, he wouldn't ask for his advice. The thought left him much relieved.

Oryl shook his head. "I think we did pretty well. We can't do anything with the kids anyway. And we don't want more adults. There's no room. That's still seventeen more than when we started."

Rel snickered at that. Vulcan had offered ten adults initially and the Followers had negotiated toe to toe with them and the Federation, through the Empress, to get Vulcan to agree to give up twenty-seven of their citizens. One for each kid.

"How are the hostages doing?" he asked Oryl, mostly rhetorically. Even though his only interaction with the hostages was to choose his victim of the day, he should at least check that they were properly being cared for. Properly enough not to die off before he chose to kill them. That was all he was asking for.

"Good enough." Oryl responded. He knew it was his job to keep an eye on everything that was happening, and he was in turn keeping an eye on Pashat and Riviass to keep the hostages alive. They were crammed so tightly together that they could not lay down but then the physical closeness was probably helping against the cold. He understood the storage rooms were cold for Vulcans though he found them perfectly comfortable. Pashat was close to figuring out a way to feed the hostages even though they were gagged, bound and chained. But according to the textbooks they had all been consulting, they had a few more days before it became a necessity. Not many but a few. "We're trying to figure out the food and water thing" Oryl added.

Rel nodded, thinking that more adults than the ones they agreed to would only be more things to worry about. Actually... He turned to Oryl, staring into space. "We'll throw in one more. A kind of bonus." He was thinking about the young woman who translated the communique. He smiled inwardly. Rather than kill her, he would make sure she'd live, and remember. If she ever got out of whatever trance she was in.

xXx

T'Pol's gaze skimmed over the viewport as she walked down the corridor to the mess hall, then slowly came back to the window as she came to a full stop. There, framed in the viewport, was the unmistakable boxy shape of one of Enterprise's shuttles, docked to the Sahriv. Her hand unconsciously came up as if to touch the shuttlecraft, encountering instead the glossy coldness of the window pane. Her thoughts turned to Trip wondering if he was aboard the Sahriv. It seemed like so long ago that she had been with him. In the three days since she had left Enterprise she felt as if her whole life had veered in a new direction. Non-stop training had turned her into a sleek and expert operative, an instrument that could be used indifferently to save the hostages or destroy the terrorists.

"Your contribution to the Suus Mahna class did not go unnoticed" Sverig's voice came from behind, interrupting her thoughts.

She was getting used to his nearby presence wherever she was, deriving a sense of familiarity and comfort from having at least one person on the ship that was similarly situated, though she would have vehemently denied that she was needing or he was providing such emotional mooring. He was solid in ways that reminded her of Trip. He was present where Trip was a past and a possible future. And she didn't have to translate, explain or wonder about what he meant when he talked to her. Sverig was easy and monochromatic where Trip was a firework of colors, reminding her of a bright and shiny exotic bird. Something that didn't have its place on the Fo-Dan.

She turned to Sverig, breaking away from staring at the shuttle. "I was the messenger but not the originator" she replied, looking straight at him. Trip and Enterprise were a lifetime away, something she may never go back to. The current reality was the Fo-Dan and V'Shar. And if Sverig was part of that reality, that was just how it was.

He inclined his head in mute invitation and she fell into step next to him, hands clasped behind her back.

xXx

Archer looked around at his officers assembled in the command center. As always, he started waiting for T'Pol until he remembered she wasn't there because she was on the Vulcan starship. Everyone that needed to be present was accounted for, including Phlox. He had asked the doctor to attend, a rare occurrence.

He took in the taut faces of his senior officers. In the three days since T'Pol had left they had met twice with the Vulcans and the Andorians, without anything worthwhile to report. This would be a much needed boost. Progress at long last. So long as one looked at the glass as half full. And they needed a half-full glass.

He launched directly into the meeting. There was no reason to keep the latest developments from them. "I just came back from meeting with Commander Kyres and Captain Soljark. The terrorists have agreed to an exchange." He saw the hope in Hoshi's face, the rounding of her mouth as she almost said 'oh' while Travis and Reed suddenly looked up at him with interest. Trip was the only holdout, still staring at the center command table. Archer knew he was counting the hours until T'Pol was safely back on board, and he couldn't blame him. Stuck in stationary orbit around the planet, there was very little for an engineer to do. Still, he needed him to at least seem like he was paying attention, for morale and also for discipline. "You have something to say, Commander Tucker?'

Trip's head snapped up and he looked around in surprise, then realized he had blatantly not been paying attention. "Uh, hostages sir?"

"Yes, Trip, of the hostages."

Trip inwardly sighed with relief. It didn't take a genius to know that given the situation chances were that it had to do with the hostages. He forced himself to focus on what Jonathan was saying.

"As I was saying," Archer started again with a pointed look at Trip "the terrorists have agreed to an exchange. They will let the children go in exchange for an equivalent number of adult Vulcans." Trip stared at Jonathan, thinking that this must be straight from the Vulcans. 'Equivalent number' was not the way Jonathan usually spoke.

"We have been asked to facilitate the exchange" Archer went on.

That roused Trip from his stupor "What do you mean, 'facilitate the exchange'?" he asked "Like we take names and make sure the count is right?" His question was met with nods from around the table. Diplomatic double-speak lacked in military precision. Archer had to admit they were right. He himself had asked the Admiral what exactly they were supposed to do.

"We've been thrust in the role of monitors" Archer explained "What it means is that we are going to go down to the planet and bring twenty-seven Vulcan children back on board." He looked at Phlox "That's why you're here, doctor."

"Only twenty-seven?" that was Hoshi. Archer looked at her kindly. "Twenty-seven out of over two hundred hostages, on a semi-military station out in deep space. That's quite a few." He actually would have expected the number to be closer to zero. "Even though by their standards Vulcans are children until they're well in their thirties, the terrorists used twenty as the cut-off. That means there still are children being held hostage down below, at least theoretically. But that was the best we could do."

He knew that the concession had come after hour upon hour of tense and sharp negotiations, between Vulcan, the terrorists, Andoria and the Federation. The terrorists had become aware that their actions with the six-year old boy had not ingratiated anyone to their cause, and had wisely decided to jettison potential reputational threats. The rest was simply convincing them not to outright get rid of the children by killing them but to leverage their presence into gaining even more hostages. After that, it was a matter of settling on a 'price', which in that case had been one for one.

Outwardly, the terrorists gained in the exchange, going from twenty-seven useless hostages to twenty-seven meaningful ones. Though it was an optical illusion. The twenty-seven Vulcan meaningful hostages would not be civilians but trained crew from the Vulcan ships. The terrorists may be biting off more than they could chew.

"Why are we bringing the children back on board to Enterprise? Why not take them directly to the Vulcan ships?" Trip asked. If they went to the Vulcan ship, he could always find some angle about why he needed to accompany them there, and perhaps catch a sight of T'Pol.

"Captain Soljark asked us to keep the children on board Enterprise. Dr. Phlox will provide the first level of care and let us know if a Vulcan healer is needed. He didn't say much" Reed snorted and Archer shot him a quick glance "but the gist was that he sees Enterprise as neutral ground, whereas there is a possibility the Vulcan ships will become engaged in hostilities." Another possibility that Archer didn't care to voice openly was that the kids would be out of the way of whatever it was Soljark and the Vulcans had planned. He and Reed knew the excuse didn't hold under close scrutiny. If four of the ships had been sent with the express purpose of bringing back the hostages, wouldn't it make sense to have the kids sent to one of those ships as soon as they got out?

"Logistically," Archer went on "we're sending a team down to the surface before the Vulcans arrive, to make sure everything is above board. The Vulcan shuttles with the adult exchanges will land next. The terrorists will release the children only after Starfleet has confirmed that the adults have arrived. And they will only release the children to Starfleet."

Archer cleared his throat. "We will be doing the exchange. We are the ones who will be delivering the Vulcan adults to the terrorists." Sometimes, being the neutral party simply sucked. He didn't need to say how distasteful that second part was, and would be. The leader of the terrorists had worked it out so that Starfleet itself, and through it the Federation, would be delivering the hostages into his hands. The symbolism was not lost on the admirals or the Federation. But getting the children out was worth any number of sacrifices.

"Lieutenant Reed," Archer went on "I'll need you to figure out tactical - who's going to be receiving the kids and handing away the adults. We can only fit so many people in a Federation shuttle, and we need to bring the kids back. You'll also have to take Dr. Phlox and medical personnel on board." Phlox was nodding energetically, his usual smile gone.

"Should I plan for a surprise?" Reed asked.

Archer looked at him silently for several long seconds "I believe the Vulcans are above board on this one, they will do the exchange. Remember that if they don't, the terrorists still have two hundred hostages."

Reed nodded, lips thinned. He would have preferred any other mission, but when one was Chief Tactical Officer board Enterprise, one didn't get to choose.

"Ensign Mayweather," Archer turned to Travis "you will be the head pilot on this one. Work with Lieutenant Reed and figure out piloting needs down and back. There won't be any back-ups. Whoever is selected must be able to fly no matter what the conditions are on the surface. There won't be a do-over." The 'conditions on the surface' being a euphemism for enemy fire. From either side. The Federation-class shuttles were much bigger than the shuttlepods and shuttlecrafts that Travis had been flying during the Enterprises first missions. They could hold several people standing up, but as a result they were bulkier and less easily maneuverable. If anything went wrong on the planet, Travis would be having a very bad day.

"Ensign Sato, I'll need you to go down there with Dr. Phlox. Someone is going to have to make these kids feel at home, speak their language. Pick whoever you want from Science to go with you." He didn't need to add that T'Pol would have been a first choice for that role.

"Anything for me, Captain?" Trip asked. Archer sighed. He wished there was something to keep the Chief Engineer's mind, and heart, at bay. Inspiration came on the fly "You and I are staying on the ship, I can't leave it without senior officers. I need you to work on the sensors, multiply their focus, do whatever you need to do, but I want to be able to track the terrorists, the children and the Vulcans, all at the same time. We're going to need more people." Archer thought that would marry the engineer's love of the camera with his technical skills.

"Also, Trip," he added before disbanding the meeting "instead of the continuous 24-hour loop for records, see about switching to a 24-hour continuous feed. I know that's going to be mountains of useless material, but I have a feeling we're going to be glad we did some day."

"Aye sir."

"Everyone, you have your orders. Reed, let me know as soon as you have a plan. I haven't heard about the precise timing of the exchange yet, but odds are that it will be pretty soon."

xXx

T'Pol looked up and met Sverig's gaze. The accuracy of their logical reasoning had been confirmed. They were going down on the planet.

On the dais, Captain T'Kullyl continued the emergency assembly that had been convened shortly after the interruption of life support systems that tolled yet another execution. The eighth one since she had left Enterprise. There would be others, how many they didn't know, but she would most likely be down on the planet for the next one. Along with Sverig and twenty-five other operatives, including some of the most seasoned ones.

T'Kullyl had gone over the plan in chilling detail. She called on the main computer for an image and the back wall turned into a room-dominating screen showing in elaborate detail the blueprints of the operations complex and the armory on Sterth Vega III, barring any undocumented changes that may have taken place during construction.

One hundred and twenty-six pairs of eyes would study every detail of the images that were also showing on individual screens in the center of each standing table. Twenty-seven of them would learn the blueprints as if they themselves had drawn them. The blueprints and a number of other importantly vital elements of the master plan. There was no telling who would be chosen, and they all had to have the exact same clarity of purpose and action. The twenty-seven would know no rest or meditation periods until they were on the ground. There would be ample time for both then. Or it wouldn't matter.


	3. The Exchange

CHAPTER III – THE EXCHANGE

 

Archer and Trip were watching the exchange from the bridge of Enterprise. Trip had recalibrated the sensors to provide a 360-degree view of the happenings on the surface, better than anyone could have seen standing on the ground. Instead of being limited to a specific angle and height, they were capturing every detail from every angle.

The federation shuttle piloted by Travis had landed first, with Reed and the MACOs on board. As per the plan developed by Reed, they were in a no-man's land of sorts, between the operations complex and the first ruins of residential buildings that jutted into the sky. A sky of a uniform grey, the grey of the darkest storms on earth, just light enough that it was still possible to see the details of the surrounding landscape. The rarefied air of Sterth Vega allowed no more. The operations complex was still generating high levels of breathable air, which permeated the structure and leaked through the remaining duct work, creating a micro-atmosphere of sorts around the complex and the armory. If a micro-atmosphere could apply to an area no larger than a few hundred thousand square yards. But it was enough to allow almost normal operation, especially closer to the ground where oxygen concentration was greater and closer to the building as they were. A hundred yards from where the shuttle had landed, the bridge crew could see the loading ramp, and next to it the steps leading up to the double-doored entry into the building.

As communicated to both sides, the exchange would take place in an orderly fashion, one child and one adult coming out from the complex and from the Vulcan shuttle and meeting at the predetermined halfway point. The child would be accompanied by two terrorists, the Vulcan adult by two MACOs. The terrorists would walk the adult the rest of the way from the halfway point while the MACOs accompanied the child to freedom and care. Reed had begged on behalf of all Starfleet officers that they not be the ones walking the adults to their capture and possible death. The MACO commander had been similarly disinclined to participate but had finally relented. Theirs was not to ask why or express an opinion, theirs was simply to be the military arm of the Federation. And the MACOs had field medical experience, which was a plus where Phlox was concerned.

The two Federation shuttles were there at the agreed place, ready to pick up twenty-seven children and whisk them to safety. It was getting close to 1200, the agreed upon time, and still the Vulcan shuttles had not appeared. Archer found that the waiting was not conducive to relaxation. Once again, he called his team, checking final readiness.

"Archer to Hoshi."

"Yes, Captain" Archer was grateful that she didn't say it in a long-suffering tone. He would have much rather been on the surface himself, overseeing the exchange. But these days a captain's duties tended more towards the administrative, managing the ship and managing the interactions with the Vulcans and the Andorians. He couldn't afford to appear to be a rogue captain and walk where angels feared to thread. His credibility with the Vulcans would suffer and he needed them to be as aligned with the Federation as he could hope to make them.

"Everything in place down there?"

"If you mean everything except the Vulcan shuttles, yes, Captain."

"How is this going to play out again?"

Hoshi rolled her eyes, but she humored the Captain. She could well imagine that he was dying to be down on Sterth Vega III himself, making sure the exchange went according to plan. "Chaco and Hernandez will be Team One, Chang and Henderson Team Two. Team Two is going to be waiting at the mid-point, they're going there as we speak. Once the terrorists release a child, they'll walk him or her back to the shuttle while Team One walks the next exchange to the mid-point."

"With one of the adults?"

"Yes, captain, each of our teams will walk one of the Vulcans to the mid-point. Once the child is released, the adult will keep walking to the complex. With the terrorists."

A shout interrupted her. "The shuttle is here!" That was one of the MACOs.

"I have to go Captain!" Hoshi shut off the communicator and motioned to Chaco and Hernandez. They joined her, arms at the ready. The entire Starfleet party turned to stare at the sleek torpedo-like Vulcan shuttles as they landed in a graceful arc around the complex, coming to rest at a point equidistant to the Federation shuttles. It was 1159.

"Damn Vulcans." Archer jumped at the unexpected whisper, then had to agree with Trip. They had to cut it to one minute of 1200, didn't they? "You know how they are" he whispered back at Trip.

On the screen, the Vulcan shuttles sat immobile and there was no movement coming from any of them. At 1200, the door to the complex opened and two Andorians stepped out with a young boy between them. Archer's heart beat faster - that was the boy whose mother had been killed in front of his eyes. He seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings. Irritated by his apparent lack of reaction, one of the Andorians roughly grabbed him by the arm and started marching him to the midway point. Archer got halfway out of his chair, realized he couldn't do much from where he was.

"Leave him alone!" he whispered in an angry tone. He was surprised to hear Hoshi's voice over the intercom, realized he had not shut off the channel, was glad he hadn't.

"They'd better not touch a hair of his head!" she growled in response.

Archer looked at the Vulcan shuttles on the screen, wondering how the people inside were reacting to seeing the terrorists manhandle the boy. He hoped they were not all logical about it, that somewhere in one of those shuttles, one of the Vulcans or the crew had to be restrained lest he jump out of the shuttle and run to knock the terrorists down. Simply imagining the scene made him realize how unproductive that would be. But it felt good anyway.

The door to the closest Vulcan shuttle lifted open and a Vulcan male stepped out, clad in a thermal suit with elastic patches of fabric on his chest and back. He nodded at Lieutenant Reed, then at Chaco and Hernandez who had come by close to the shuttle. The two MACOs started walking alongside the Vulcan, the armed party reaching the midway point slightly ahead of the Andorians and their slower-moving charge.

The man and the boy's eyes crossed when they reached the exchange point, and still the boy seemed like he hadn't noticed anything. The Andorian guards shoved the boy roughly at Chaco and Hernandez. The Vulcan stepped forward and the terrorists quickly pulled his arms back and put him in restraints before walking him back to the complex, rifles out and pointed at the Vulcan. It was an overkill of caution, the man walked without slowing down, as if the terrorists were not beside him. The doors to the complex opened, the Vulcan disappeared inside, and soon another child came out.

xXx

It was torture. Pure and simple.

Archer squirmed in his command chair, unable to find a satisfactory seating position, on pins and needles as he watched Vulcan after Vulcan come out of the shuttle and walk to the midway point, accompanied by the MACOs, until the terrorists took over and the man or woman disappeared through the double doors into the operations complex. What was happening behind those double doors? They had assurances from Rel that the hostages would not be harmed. Kind of ironic considering that each of them was a potential victim of the next day's execution. But the Federation and Vulcan were somewhat adamant that they be well treated until that happened, if ever.

And all he could do was watch. As each Vulcan adult walked to the complex as a hostage, Archer made sure to register their faces so that he would know right away if he encountered them again. And he hoped he would have that opportunity. So he could properly express his personal gratitude.

"Captain, we have seventeen children on Shuttle 1. It is taking off now." Hoshi's voice over the intercom was a welcome interruption to his mulling.

"Roger, get back here as soon as you can. Everything ok? Is Phlox going?"

"No, Captain. He will be on the second shuttle. There is no medical emergency on the first shuttle. His words."

"Captain, Lieutenant Reed here. Huh, there is something you should know, sir." Reed cut in the communication. There was the sound of muffled voices, then his communicator went silent. Archer looked up at the screen, wondering what was going on. Reed was by the second shuttle door, but he was hidden by the first shuttle, which stood empty of all its occupants other than its crew. The Vulcan exchanges were now coming from the second shuttle. Archer turned to Trip "Any way we can get a view of what's going on behind that shuttle?"

The engineer looked up from his console. "Sorry, sir, we can't see through the shuttle. But it won't last long. Whoever is behind it will come into view at any time."

As Trip said it, Lieutenant Reed stepped into view with the next Vulcan adult. Archer couldn't help thinking that was highly irregular. Reed was supposed to stay at the door of the shuttle, orienting the Vulcans coming out if there was any need, which so far there had obviously been no need for, as expected. The Vulcan was partly hidden by the somewhat taller Reed. It was a female, then. Archer reflected privately that there were few females among the Vulcans being exchanged. He wondered what coincidence made it that most of the Vulcans available to become hostages were men. Unless it was a requirement of the Andorians that there would be a limited number of women. In Andorian culture, females were the more aggressive ones, and they may not have wanted the headache associated with keeping guard over too many of them.

Archer did a double-take at the image on the screen while he felt a cold hand grip his spine. Next to him, he heard the sudden intake of breath of Trip, followed by a whispered oath he couldn't quite understand. But it didn't matter. T'Pol. That was T'Pol next to Reed. Archer's jaw was clenched so tight he thought it might break. What was T'Pol doing there? Well, what she was doing there was obvious, but why the hell was she one of the exchanges? How dare the Vulcans do that! That was why V'Shar had recalled her?! She was a Starfleet officer, godammit!

The MACOs saluted T'Pol as she walked to them and Chang handed his rifle to Reed, who took it. There was no need for an explanation. He would be walking his fellow officer to the midway point. Hoshi stepped forward at the same time, collecting his rifle from Henderson and greeted T'Pol, who simply nodded back. There was no need for words. Hoshi blinked several times out of nervousness and to chase the tears away. T'Pol was dressed in a thermal suit with several bands of elastic decorative fabric around her arms and legs. As they walked to the midway point, Archer and Trip could see that there was some kind of conversation taking place between them.

"I hope they're getting to her not to do it" Trip exhaled in a half-whisper. Archer looked at him, noted the engineer had grown pale and flushed at the same time, as if he was caught between fainting and having an episode of explosive anger. He could himself hardly unclench his jaw enough to talk.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Trip" he told the engineer. And he would be taking names all the way down to the bottom. Archer could just imagine the admiralty's reaction when he told them one of their officers had been handed over on a platter by the Vulcans.

Trip glowered back at him. "Getting to the bottom of this won't do anything. We need her out. Now!" If anyone was to blame for this, they would find Trip's hands wrapped around their throat before they knew it.

On the screen, Reed, Hoshi and T'Pol had reached the midway point, where they met the Andorian terrorists and a teenage girl. T'Pol gravely nodded at Reed and Hoshi, then turned back and looked up at the sky as if staring directly at Enterprise, in what Trip knew was a silent message to him. Then she stepped forward. The terrorists manacled her hands behind her back and she was walked to the operations complex. Reed and Hoshi stared without moving, until she disappeared inside and the door closed behind her.

The silence on the bridge was deafening. Archer turned to Hoshi's replacement. "Get me Admiral Toussaint on the double. Or Poloetl'q or Wetjelk. Or any of them. Now!"

He felt more than heard Trip walk over to his chair. "Was that a nightmare? I'm not dreaming, am I?"

Archer shook his head. "No, this is for real. There are tapes if you have any doubt."

"She didn't tell us…"

"Perhaps she didn't know. Or perhaps she knew and didn't want us to know." Actually, come to think of it, Archer was fairly convinced T'Pol had known all along. That was the reason for the recall of V'Shar operatives. They needed Vulcan adults to exchange for the kids. They didn't know exactly what form it would take but they had been planning for something like that all along. T'Pol could have told them. She should have told them. He found himself getting angry at her, had to recognize she was not the real target of his blame.

"Shuttle One approaching" the pilot's voice rang out on the bridge. Archer flicked his armchair intercom. There was a ship to run, rescued kids to be seen to.

"Archer here. Get the kids to Sickbay as soon as you land, no changes to the plan." He needed to talk to Reed and Hoshi as soon as they came back to their stations on the planet. Find out what T'Pol had told them. Perhaps there was something there he should know.

xXx

If the previous exchanges had been torture, waiting until all the kids had been accounted for was torture power of ten. It was one thing to know that a bunch of adult Vulcans were being sent to their probably or possible death, it was another thing entirely when one of those Vulcans was one's friend or officer or bondmate. Now it was personal. For at least two of them. Archer was fuming, thinking about his next interaction with Soljark, thinking about what he would tell the admirals. There would be no doubt left in anyone's mind as to where he stood about this. Once in a while he glanced over at Hoshi's replacement but it seemed contact with the admiralty was still in process.

The doors to the operations complex opened for what Archer knew to be the final time. Twenty-seven. This was the end. He was surprised to see two figures between the terrorists, a young woman and a child holding hands. Actually, it seemed the child was leading the young woman as if she were blind or unseeing. The terrorists must have decided killing her would be bad for their reputation. It was unexpected but Archer was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. As they came closer, he realized the young woman was still a child by Vulcan standards, though she was definitely older than twenty. And she was not unseeing but had a stare of such complete vacancy that he wasn't sure she was still alive. Hoshi and the MACOs brought the two of them to the remaining shuttle, where Phlox helped the older child climb inside. Then the remaining team members got on board, Reed last, and the shuttle lifted off. The Vulcan shuttles promptly took off right after.

"Captain, I have the admiralty," the young communicator turned to Archer.

"Perfect timing, crewman. Patch it to my ready room." Someone was going to feel his or her ears burn. Archer turned to the engineering console as an afterthought "Trip, you're with me."

xXx

Once Admiral Toussaint got over the news about T'Pol, he asked for a full debrief about the hostage exchange before conferencing Admiral Wetjelk in for further discussion. She had obviously been asleep and hadn't bothered to put a robe over her pajamas. She looked at the screen, slightly irritated, hair mussed and eyes heavy with slumber. "Gentlemen. This is the first rest I'm getting in over four days." Her tone had unmistakable 'this better be good' qualities to it. Toussaint quickly caught her up on the news. Wetjelk looked directly at Archer "I'm glad the hostage exchange took place as planned and that you now have the kids. At least we got that much out of these monsters -"

"Did you know that T'Pol was going to be part of the hostage exchange?" Trip cut in before she could say anything further.

Wetjelk shook her head. "No, the Vulcans didn't tell us who they were sending. Getting the kids out was everyone's top priority. But, Jonathan, this is not a Starfleet matter." She sighed, seemed about to talk then changed her mind.

Archer looked at her through narrowed eyes, then sneered "Let me guess, Starfleet and the Federation are going to deny that T'Pol is one of theirs because otherwise Starfleet would be involved in a hostage situation, it would no longer be just the Vulcans and the Andorians. How typically political." He was fuming.

Wetjelk grew animated. "Jonathan, if people like you can go around being all high and mighty about doing the right thing it is because people like me are maneuvering through minefields of relationships and potential outcomes to try and make things work for you. T'Pol knew very well what she was doing when she answered the call from Vulcan. Nobody forced her. She didn't go in as Starfleet and her commission was suspended the moment she stepped foot on that shuttle."

Seeing the astonished expression on Archer and Trip's faces, Wetjelk relented slightly. "She didn't mention that to either of you, did she? Though considering how you are reacting, I can see why…." Wetjlek grew animated again "What do you think, Jon? Do you think that just because Vulcan wants one of our officers we hand them over, no questions asked? They were asking for one of the best officers in Starfleet" Trip's chest bombed slightly at the comment "and there was a lot of thought given to the request. We were talking giving one of our assets away. And we didn't want Starfleet to get involved in the hostage situation. T'Pol's commission was suspended for the duration, to be reinstated as soon as she comes back to Enterprise." Wetjlek paused slightly "I said when, not if." She shook her head ruefully "As I said, this is not a Starfleet matter. I am sorry she is one of the hostages and I can only hope and pray for her quick release. Personally. And in an official capacity, no more than I do for any other hostage. I'm sorry."

Wetjelk cut off the comm, leaving Toussaint, Archer and Trip to stare at each other. Toussaint cleared his throat. "Well, I guess that's our answer, then. Your orders have not changed, Captain. Keep us appraised of everything that is going on around the planet."

"Thank you, Admiral, Archer out." Archer looked at Trip. T'Pol had known all along and there was nothing that could be done. Not through official channels anyway. "I wonder what Captain Soljark will have to say." There was acid in his voice. He turned to Trip "She didn't tell you about this?"

"That's a conversation I plan to have with she-who-is-my-wife" Trip snapped back, appreciating the emotional distance that came with the Vulcan moniker. Angry wouldn't start describing how he felt. There was righteous anger and then there was the white hot hurt of betrayal. Of course. That was why she hadn't packed anything. She had left Starfleet. And she hadn't even had the courage to tell him. Was she planning to ever come back? Did she know when she left that she would be traded for one of the children? She had told him she meant to come back. It could also have meant she wanted to but couldn't.

He slapped the doorframe hard, making Archer jump at the noise. He was angry and she wasn't even there to be angry at. And she might never be. There was nothing he could do about it. Trip forced himself to calm down. He would deal with this and T'Pol when it was time to do so. And at some point it would be time. Hopefully.

He frowned slightly, his attention drawn to another thought. "Do you think the other Vulcans in the exchange were V'Shar, too?" he asked.

Archer considered, looking at the relay of the sensor pictures on the main screen, now only showing a deserted patch of land in front of the operations complex and the structure in the far back. And he slowly realized what the Vulcans had just done, right under the nose of Starfleet and the Andorians. He turned back to Trip "I have a feeling the terrorists just exchanged twenty-seven kids for twenty-seven V'Shar operatives."

Trip made a face at the screen. "Ouch."

Archer rubbed his face. Poor terrorists indeed. But it also meant the Vulcans had their own plans, which of course they hadn't bothered to inform their allies or Starfleet about. Typical. They would have to double their vigilance where the Vulcan starships were concerned. For starters, Lieutenant Reed must be well on his way back, with Hoshi, and they had some debriefing to do.

xXx

As soon as she stepped inside the building, T'Pol was slammed into the wall by the terrorists accompanying her. She quickly blinked the stars away, catching her breath. The operatives were aware that the terrorists would maintain a pretense of dignified conduct while the Federation was watching but that things might be different once they were inside the complex. And they were different. Rough hands spun her around, slamming her into the wall again, but this time she was prepared and tensed in anticipation, avoiding being dazed. A gag was forced in her mouth, made painfully tight until it rubbed against the sides of her mouth, and then she was spun around and slammed into the wall again, the manacles bruising the small of her back. What came next was a contact search, her skin crawling with the unwanted telepathic connection, hands digging painfully enough to leave bruises, the Andorians taking great pleasure in her discomfort.

Once shown free of contraband, she was dragged to a set of double doors at the end of a corridor, then shoved and pushed down a flight of stairs. She recognized the tunnel going from the complex to the armory from memory of the blueprints. The hostages were held in the armory, then. Her mental clock automatically measured that the next operative must be at the halfway point, starting on his or her way into the complex. The cameras aboard the Vulcan shuttles would be recording every wrinkle of each and every terrorist they saw, to be analyzed and measured against the security database. If the terrorists ever left Sterth Vega III alive they would know no peace until the time of their reckoning.

The tunnel stretched for a hundred and fifty yards and there were terrorists standing at regular intervals along one side of it. An armed guard grabbed her by the arm and started walking her down the tunnel. The reason for the set-up soon became apparent as the Andorians lined along the tunnel started punching and kicking her as she walked, the guard turning her as needed to maximize exposure to the blows. She was staggering by the time they reached the end of the tunnel. The terrorist posted there looked up at the guard "Storage Room 1". He looked at her "You do anything funny and we'll kill two of your friends from Storage Room 2". T'Pol privately reflected that this was an optimal number to ensure compliance, a one-to-one ratio may not have been enough of a deterrent.

The guard holding her dragged her to the left side of the building, stepping through an open doorway into a room full of hostages. She recognized eight operatives, the rest were hostages. The operatives sported a variety of bruises and cuts from their walk through the tunnel, a couple of them had blood dripping down their faces from split eyebrows or broken noses. Odds were that she looked pretty much the same.

The guard kept a firm hold on her arm, harshly kicking two operatives aside to make room for their passage. He picked the end of a chain from where it was lying on the floor, passing it between her manacled hands in her back and looping it around a steel bar running the length of the room, yanked hard to check the safety of the hold, and left, shoving her roughly to the ground first.

T'Pol sat up where she had fallen. Her head was throbbing, and she used her mental controls to suppress the pain of her bruised ribs and twisted knee. The female Andorians had been a lot more aggressive towards her than the males, who had somewhat held their blows. She tried to settle as she could in the minimal amount of space, reminded of the Orion slave traders and the steel cages in which they held their captives. There was only so much space available, certainly not enough to have any hopes of lying down, the room was crammed beyond the pale with bodies.

While she waited for more operatives to be joined to the end of the chain next to her, she looked around the room, assessing the condition of the hostages. Their sunken eyes talked to malnutrition and dehydration. Most of them were sitting, but some were laying down on the cold hard floor, the sicker ones she figured. None were standing, either because they no longer had the energy or because the terrorists would not allow it. She saw that one of the hostages lying down was the father of the six-year old boy, the bondmate of the female who had been killed. She was surprised he had not died already, he must be kept alive by the need to see after their young son.

She thought about entering a mild healing trance until the remaining hostages were brought in but the mission leader was already mentally gathering them, using the low-level operation link that V'Shars used to coordinate their actions and check on mission status. The connection was not clear enough for a full reveal, more like sensations, the impression things were going well or that there were some issues. The directive from the leader impressed that there was no time to waste, everything must be ready before time was taken to regroup and heal. They had to put the plan in motion right away.

Once the last five operatives had been chained alongside her, almost on top of her, the Andorian terrorists left the room, activating the force field in the doorway. They spent a few minutes laughing among themselves, admiring their handiwork in the additional hostages chained in the room, unaware that their every move was being studied and analyzed by those same hostages. Then they left the building and silence descended on the armory.

The V'Shar agents were now free to act.

xXx

Finally, preparations were over and everything was ready. As ready as things could be considering the hostages were tied down without any ability to move or talk. But the terrorists had made a fatal mistake when they had overcrowded the storage cells to the point where only the sickest could fully lay down. Everyone was thrown into a level of physical contact that was unwanted and unprecedented.

For Vulcans.

Who were touch telepaths of varying strengths but sensitive enough that they had to maintain shields against haphazard contact.

Whose V'Shar leaders scored extremely high on the psionic scale, so that they could communicate with their teams in many different ways.

As a result, a broadband of sorts had been created among all the hostages in Storage Room 1. The same was true for Storage Room 2, it had been a simple algorithm to distribute the V'shar agents so that each room had its own complement of highly psionic operatives. The plan was communicated according to each individual's talents, in bright and complete clarity or as a muddled warning that something would happen. Information was exchanged, decisions were made, that would otherwise have had to be made in the heat of the action, possibly with adverse consequences or not logically.

As details of the plan became understood by all, a half-dozen Vulcans stood up in various parts of each room, all similar in that their silver hair and creased faces bore witness to lives already long lived. One by one they sat back down until a single one remained in each room. That one nodded at the V'Shar leader before sitting down again.

It had been decided.

xXx

Archer stepped into Sickbay and recoiled in surprise. The entire room was filled with cots on which a motley assortment of children were resting. It was not the number of additional cots that surprised him, he had expected as much. It was not even that there were two or three, depending on size, children sitting or lying on each bed, he had expected as much as well. What he hadn't expected were the medical lines in every child's wrist or hand. A girl that looked no older than four was lying at the head of a cot, a breathing tube snaking into her nose and a fluid line in the back of her hand. She looked up at him listlessly. All the children were wearing kid-size versions of Starfleet jumpsuits, adding to the surreal quality of the scene. Archer looked around the room until he located Phlox, walked straight to him.

"Doctor..."

"Ah, Captain" the Denobulan was his usual effusive self, seemingly thrilled with how things were progressing. Archer looked around again at the kids, wondering if there was something he was missing. And the children also had bruises on their faces. Some kind of vitamin deficiency? He started gesturing at Phlox, who caught on right away. "Ah, yes, yes, nothing to be worried about." He took Archer by the arm, directing him to an area away from earshot. Then looked around again, seemingly realizing he was dealing with Vulcan hearing, and walked Archer out of Sickbay.

"I came for an update before I talk to Captain Soljark. What's going on? I thought you said there were no medical emergencies" Archer asked as soon as the doors swished shut behind them.

"There were no medical emergencies but the children are suffering from shock, exposure and dehydration, and are close to starvation. I'm bringing their electrolyte levels back to normal."

Archer looked at Phlox incredulously "What did they do to these kids?"

"Nothing they didn't do to the adults, but these are kids, they were more susceptible to the cold and the lack of food. A couple of them will need to be in Sickbay for a few days. The rest should be released tomorrow."

"What about the little girl?"

Phlox knew who he was asking about. "It's not as bad as it looks. A touch of pneumonia because of the cold. She'll be healed in no time."

"Anything you want me to tell Soljark?" It had already been agreed that the children would stay on Enterprise until the crisis was over, the Vulcans not wanting them anywhere near in case a conflict erupted between Vulcan and Andoria. Which was still a possibility.

"Just as I said, the kids are pretty much fine physically. Mentally, they're going to need time and care to process what happened. Tell him we do have a couple of cases that require the intervention of a Vulcan healer."

"The boy" Archer hazarded.

"The boy and that young woman. The boy is suffering from childhood catatonic dissociation, a form of Vulcan psychosis. The young woman was brutalized." Phlox looked downward in reluctance "I repaired the internal damage but all I can do at this point is keep her alive until we can get her to a healer.

Archer was shocked "What do you mean keep her alive?"

Phlox shook his head "Not from the attack, no. But her mind is gone, and I mean exactly that. She has retreated so far within herself, most probably to protect herself psychically, that she is lost within herself. Based on medical readings, it is rare but not uncommon. A healer is needed to help bring her back but Vulcan physiology is so connected with their mental state that at some point her body will start shutting down."

Archer sighed "I'll ask Soljark to send a healer."

As he turned to leave, Phlox stopped him with a hand on his arm "Ah, Captain… scuttlebutt is that the Vulcans forced T'Pol to become a hostage."

Archer shook his head, frowning. It seemed that was the first thing that came to everyone's mind. "Not quite. I have from a good source that she knew what she was getting into. Hoshi and Reed asked her about it. I know that may come as a surprise but she told them it was the logical choice."

Phlox wore his usual benign smile "It is something you may want to address, if you have time. You wouldn't want negative feelings towards Vulcans to be the environment T'Pol comes back to, hmm?"

xXx

"Captain Archer" for once Soljark didn't wait for the Human to talk first, "What is the condition of the children?"

"They're fine, mostly. They're suffering from exposure and dehydration, but my medical officer expects them to fully recover, at least physically. Mentally, they will require some kind of assistance. We also have two children who are in need of a Vulcan healer right away. We were hoping you could spare one for a couple of days."

Soljark looked down and away, triggering Archer's inner warning that his request may not be a slam-dunk. "Our healers are aware that the condition of the children is not immediately life-threatening" Soljark replied. "We only have five healers for seven ships, Captain" he explained before Archer could prod further "and until the situation on the planet is resolved in a satisfactory manner I cannot share any medical resources."

"In other words, that's a 'no'" Archer threw all the contempt he could in his voice.

"Until the situation on the planet is resolved in a satisfactory manner I cannot share any medical resources" Soljark repeated.

Archer pursed his lips in annoyance. He had learned enough about Vulcans by now to know that Captain Soljark would not be moved. He suspected he was up to something though he didn't know exactly what.

He eyed him coldly "Talking about the situation on the planet--"

"You are enquiring about operative T'Pol" Soljark finished for him.

"Yes, exactly. We were a little bit, uh, surprised, to say the least, to see she was part of the hostage exchange. Now I don't know how the Vulcan Council sees things, but I'm pretty certain that was not in Starfleet's plans when they agreed to let her join the Vulcan forces." That was only taking some minor liberties with the truth.

"I can assure you, Captain, that T'Pol was not compelled to participate in anything she did not embrace."

Archer snorted "Yes, I can see how feasible it would be for her to decline when every other V'Shar agent is in on the deal." He paused, looking at Soljark "Because they are all V'Shar agents, weren't they?"

The Vulcan captain didn't see fit to answer the question. "As far as the terrorists are aware T'Pol is one of twenty-seven Vulcan citizens, despite your officers' misdirected attempts to expose her association with Starfleet, thereby recklessly endangering her."

"My officers' misdirected attempts?! Hold on a second!"

Soljark went on over Archer's sputtering.

"Fortunately, the terrorists do not seem sophisticated enough as fighters to have discerned the difference in her treatment."

For half a second, Archer felt like the world had shifted on its axis, and he was a Vulcan watching in repressed dismay as a bunch of self-indulgent emotional Humans made it clear to the world that T'Pol was not like the other hostages. Vulcan logic would have delivered her to the terrorists coldly and efficiently. Human ethics demanded that her friends walk alongside her.

Archer landed back in his own mind almost with a thud. This time, he felt it happen. The Vulcans were wrong. Perhaps Humans were emotionally messy but emotions were what made it all worthwhile.

"Stop that!" Archer raised his hand in front of his face. "Whatever you're doing, stop it!"

Captain Soljark looked taken aback "I beg your pardon?"

Archer gripped his desk with both hands. "Whenever I talk to you, I end up having an out-of-body experience where I'm watching the situation from your perspective. If you're not responsible, I apologize, but if you are, stop it."

Soljark's eyes widened considerably. "I beg forgiveness, Captain. It will not happen again." He abruptly cut off the communication.

Archer stared at the dark screen, understanding slowly taking shape. So it was him. Soljark was responsible for those weird out-of-body experiences he had been having. Which he still hadn't mentioned to Phlox. He needed to get to Sickbay and make sure the Vulcans had not messed with his mind.

xXx

The Andorian terrorists stepped in front of Storage Room 1, contempt written all over their faces. Only Vulcans could wait passively all night long for their execution. Not that they had a choice, really, but still, Andorians would have behaved differently. Andorians of old, that is. The weakling modern Andorians could not be counted upon to have any pride.

The Vulcans stared back from behind the force field. The terrorist scanning the crowd for the next victim noticed an older Vulcan sitting still in the middle of the others. He ignored him and kept looking for the next hostage primed for execution. Perhaps he would choose a female, they hadn't killed one since the fiasco with the kid. He found himself staring at the older Vulcan again. His gaze brushed over him and he went back to scanning the room for a victim that would please Rel better.

When he found himself staring at the older Vulcan a third time, he rationalized that there must be a reason why he kept being drawn to him, that perhaps the older man was a figure of standing among his peers. He pointed him to the other terrorists who quickly released him and escorted him out. The terrorist grinned at the rest of the Vulcans behind the forcefield and raised one finger in the air, indicating he would be back in a day.

Once the door was closed, the V'Shar operatives looked at each other. It had worked. The older Vulcan volunteer was of an age where he had an accomplished life and his honorable death would be a comfort of sorts to his children and grandchildren.

Now the plan could be set in motion.

xXx

Rel was unhappily brooding. It felt like the Federation, Vulcan and Andoria, all of them had forgotten about him. Before the hostage exchange, everyone was hanging on his word, on what he was going to do. The Empress was no longer talking to him. Now that he had given up the kids it was as if he didn't exist anymore. As if Thoor-Ukh didn't exist anymore. But Thoor-Ukh was not some third-rate movement rattling its saber on a dinky space station. It was Andoria's destiny.

He was Andoria's destiny.

He had to make them see that. But they were blind and deaf like so many newborn _zhrens_. He had their collective feet to the fire and still they behaved as if he was something so inconsequential they didn't even have to try. He needed to find a way to make them pay attention again. All of them.

And it was not the death of an old man that was going to bring them back. That's what happened when one tried to delegate. Things were just not done to the same exacting standard. He resolved that the next day he would select the victim himself. It was too late for this day. He left the shooting range, trusting Oryl to oversee the execution.

xXx

The Empress waved her antennae in agitation. "Have the Vulcans said anything?"

"No, your Highness" Commander Kyres inclined his antennae in submission. "There has been no communication from the Vulcan ships since the hostage exchange."

The Empress sighed. "Very well. Let us know as soon as you hear from them."

She shut off the communication and turned to Okassehr, her trusted advisor. "How can they stand there without doing anything?! The children are out now, we have let them know we would not oppose any action, they could attack the outpost."

"It is not for us to understand the way of the Vulcans, your Highness" Okassehr responded. "Or Andoria and Vulcan would have been at peace long ago."

"In the meantime, another one of them dies" the Empress sighed. She had felt sorry for the old man, he didn't deserve to end his days this way.

Why couldn't the Vulcans intervene and stop this madness? Didn't they understand the Andorians had their hands tied because they couldn't afford to be responsible for the deaths of over two hundred Vulcans and possibly one hundred Andorians? Posterity would never remember they had no choice. It would always come back to haunt her people and she was blood-born to protect them above anything else.

xXx

"All your readings are normal, Captain."

Archer sat up on the biobed, relieved to hear that there was no subtle psionic changes. With nothing to do but wait, he had had plenty of time to get himself checked. The doctor was as stomped as he was by the weird happenings.

Perhaps T'Pol could have explained. Thinking about her only served to re-awaken his anger and his anxiety. Thank god she hadn't been the victim of the morning's killing. The next day would bring a new killing, and there was still no word from the Vulcans. They had gone incommunicado and all his calls to Soljark were met with evasions of the 'nobody's-home' variety. He just couldn't believe they were not doing anything.

He looked around at the much emptied Sickbay. Only a couple of cots remained, and two biobeds were hidden behind isolation curtains - the boy and the young woman. He made a note to find their names from Phlox, if he could. The children might be on the Enterprise for a long while yet and he didn't see himself referring to them as the boy and the young woman for the duration.

"Where is the rest of the kids?" he asked

Phlox erupted into an ear-to-ear grin "Basketball."

Archer could only stare at Phlox in disbelief but he slowly realized the Denobulan was serious.

Phlox was enthusiastically going on. "It is perfect. Play therapy with physical therapy."

"Physical therapy?" For exposure and malnutrition?

"The terrorists had all the hostages gagged and tied up. At their age, so many days of immobility is a very long time. Most of them have some motor issues, stiff joints, painful shoulders. Nothing that can't be fixed. And Vulcan healing techniques aside, play therapy will do wonders for them. Especially in these circumstances." Phlox was bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement "The Interspecies Medical Exchange has developed an entire protocol to deal with populations like these. The MACOs are setting up the teams as we speak."

"The MACOS…" Archer had a distinct feeling things were going faster than he could process.

"These are Vulcan children, Captain. Who just went through a major emotional trauma. If there's an emotional breakthrough, it will come out in the form of anger and violence."

Archer stared at Phlox, not trusting himself to voice an opinion. Instead he looked around Sickbay, then turned to Phlox again, but the Denobulan doctor had anticipated his question.

"Ah, yes, Captain, you may have noticed the stuffed animals." Archer's eyebrows shot up. May have noticed? Sickbay was chock full of them. "I know Vulcans don't usually deal in stuffed animals and such but the crew is Human and Ensign Sato organized a drive, I think that's what it's called, hmm?"

Archer looked at Phlox suspiciously, wondering who had seeded the idea of a drive with Hoshi. It didn't matter, anything that could preserve morale was welcome when they were orbiting around the station with nothing to do except keep one eye on the Vulcans and the other on the terrorists. A chameleon would have been less strained.

"And how is it working?" he asked.

Phlox dropped to a conspirational whisper "The older kids couldn't be bothered, but the younger ones caught on right away. Come see" He walked Archer over to the cot with the little girl. There were four stuffed animals lined up in a row by her side, and she had scooted over to give them half the space. She seemed a lot less listless than the day before.

When she felt Archer's gaze on her, she looked up at him then pointed in turn to each animal "Ko-mekh; Sa-mekh; Sa-Kai; Ko-Kai" Archer looked at Phlox who was standing behind the cot. "She's the youngest we have. Hoshi believes she was alone with her mother on the planet, her father and brother must be beside themselves trying to get to the station." He pulled a hypospray out of his pocket, joyfully announcing "Time for your medication."

Before he could finish the little girl had picked up one of the stuffed bears and extended it to Phlox. The doctor made a show of giving the hypospray to the animal before the little girl inclined her neck and let Phlox administer the dosage.

The grace with which she did it reminded Archer of T'Pol. He squatted to get eye-level to her. "What's your name, honey?" he asked.

In reply, she splayed the palm of her hand on his cheek, trying to reach as much of his face as she could. Phlox had been distracted with another young patient and he scooted over with alacrity as soon as he saw what she was doing.

"Here, here, dear" he quickly pulled her hand away from Archer's face. "We have to ask permission first, remember?" The child looked at him as if deciding whether she was going to listen. "This is intimate and we keep this for people in the family or people we are very close to, right?"

Archer felt himself blush. He looked at Phlox "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

The Denobulan doctor was smiling "No harm done. She's still at the age where social norms are being taught."

His young patient didn't seem to be in the mood to learn, however. With a shriek of rage, she took one of the stuffed animals and yanked his head off, throwing it across the room. Phlox grabbed the guillotined bear from her hands, speaking to her sternly "Now, now, young lady, I know you haven't had anybody to meditate with lately but this is not proper behavior. You must apologize to the Captain." There were a tense couple of minutes as the child obviously struggled with whether she was going to heed Phlox. Finally, she turned to Archer and whispered "I beg forgiveness."

"There, there" the doctor was all smile once again. He went and picked up another teddy bear from a vast collection by his desk. "Here you go, but I won't replace the next one, do you hear?"

Archer could only stare at the scene in disbelief. Phlox yanked him away and out of Sickbay. Archer turned to him "What was that?"

"That, Captain, was a Vulcan child who is suffering from shock and hasn't had guided meditation in over a week. She's not the only one. I have a mountain of stuffed animal parts as proof."

Archer whistled softly. And he thought he had learned a lot about Vulcans.

But Phlox was going on "If you don't mind, Captain, I'm going to need the help of Commander Tucker. He's the only crewman on board with experience in Vulcan meditation. I may need to call on him in case of emergency."

Archer nodded "You got it. Trip is available whenever you need him." If a four-year old could effortlessly yank the head off a stuffed animal it seemed wise to keep a step ahead of that particular train wreck.

xXx

There was nothing to do but wait. At least the enforced rest allowed the operatives to enter light heating trances and heal any bruises and physical damage from walking the Andorian gauntlet.

At some point during the day the terrorists had come by with packs of a foul smelling gel that they force-fed the hostages, beating those that resisted. The V'Shar agents had complied without resisting. Maintaining optimal physical integrity was a priority and subpar alimentation was not a logical reason to risk that. T'Pol wished it were, as the gel left a potent aftertaste in her mouth and a vaguely nauseous feeling was unsettling her stomach.

To distract her mind from the physical discomfort, she mentally went once again over the details of the buildings from the blueprints, the eventuality they were not an accurate rendering of the final structure, and the steps she would have to take in that case. All indications were that she would be putting her part of the plan in motion. The odds that she would be selected as the next victim were 0.3%, minute enough to be negligible.

The odds that she would come out alive of the mission could not be computed. It remained an objective fact that every one of the twenty-seven operatives was expendable. Her thoughts turned to Sverig, who must be in Storage Room 2, wondering if they would meet again before the mission ended.

At the time when she had reached the midway point and there was no outcome ahead of her other than the terrorists and possible death, her thoughts had turned to Trip. He was the one she wanted by her side. However illogical it was, she had hoped he would catch one last glimpse of her and had looked up to where she thought Enterprise was orbiting. She may not see him again before she died and the thought made her soul ache.

But nothing had changed of the logical imperatives that had made her block the bond. There was no other choice but to wait for events to unfold, alone.

xXx

The call from the Empress came just as Rel was getting on his way to select the next hostage. Rel wondered if she did it on purpose, then decided it must be a coincidence. Hurt pride made him want to ignore the call.

But the ethics of Andoria of old dictated that the Empress always come first. He turned around, abandoning his quest. He would come back to it after the call. "Don't do anything until I'm back" he barked at Oryl and the rest of his retinue. He didn't need them to bungle the task like they did the day before.

xXx

Rel slumped on the perch in front of the vidscreen, deep in thought. It was all very unexpected. Part of him was telling him to talk to his faithful followers about the proposal. Part of him was whispering that the Followers could be a hindrance to his rise to glory. His antennae were almost quivering with the tension.

Would it be Thoor-Ukh that joined the governing council of Andoria, or would it be Rel, Leader of Thoor-Ukh? When asked that way the answer was obvious.

And what if the Followers refused to consider the offer from the Empress, denying themselves, and him, longstanding glory? Only a madman would pretend their actions had been if not successful at least well received. History had not been written for him to kill one alien a day until there were none left. He deserved better.

He was destined for greater things. Greater than Sterth Vega III. Greater than Thoor-Ukh even. But that was not for him to divulge quite yet. Once he was part of the governing council, he could see his rise to the highest levels of Andorian governance.

That was what the deities had prepared him for. Everything that happened, everything he had done, was leading to this apotheosis. He could feel it in his bones. He would wait until the next day because he had promised the Empress, but there was no doubt as to his final decision.

xXx

"Your Highness is making a pact with the devil" Okassehr sternly commented once the video feed was off.

"They will have to denounce violence and ties to Thoor-Ukh. And swear allegiance to me." The Empress pointed out in return.

"Their allegiance is not in doubt," Okassehr gently remonstrated. "They may denounce Thoor-Ukh but nothing will change about their cruelty."

"They still are Andoria's children."

"Alas they are." Okassehr was looking at the ground, deep in thought.

The Empress sighed. "I can't bear this any longer. I would do anything to prevent just one more death." Her antennae stooped listlessly, echoing her sadness.

"That, you may have" Okassehr didn't have the heart to tell her that was all she may have done.

xXx

"We can't do this" Oryl got up, started pacing the room, antennae wriggling "This is not why we created Thoor-Ukh, remember our early oath, Andoria-of-Old or death."

"I remember, but we have a better chance of influencing things from inside the government." Rel countered. "We have tried waking up Andoria, but they are still asleep. There has been no groundswell to support our movement, nothing at all. Nobody has even tried to come to the planet. All we are doing is killing some Vulcans before we all die." He paused to let his words sink in. "But if we are part of the governing council, our reach will expand much beyond a few Vulcans. We could influence the trajectory of our entire civilization. They won't even realize it before it's too late!"

"That is not what we set up to do." Oryl felt personally betrayed by Rel. How could he even envision a political resolution? Revolution could only be sated in rivers of blood, in the overthrow of what was there before.

Rel mercurially changed moods. Smiling, he bumped Oryl on the shoulder, antennae aloft. "You are right, as always. I am heartened to see our ideals still resonate in you. I'll tell the Empress we will never join her governing council. Come, let's go choose the next hostage."

Oryl didn’t see Rel look at him as they turned to leave or his blood would have frozen in his veins. It was the cold stare of a calculating killer, antennae bent like missiles towards Oryl. For Rel, his former friend was weak and limited in his vision. People like him would always be in Rel's way, their small-mindedness an obstacle to his reaching the pinnacles of power. Oryl, in his insistence on staying true to their path, had made Rel's decision easy, and clear.

Tomorrow, he would reach out to the Empress, accepting her proposal and explaining that Oryl led a blood-thirsty faction that had split from the true goals of Thoor-Ukh. Oryl and all those who were too tightly wed to the ideals of Thoor-Ukh would meet their demise on Sterth Vega III. Nobody would question how. Rel would reunite Thoor-Ukh and bring it back to the Empress's fold.

He, Rel Ch'Killek, formerly Rel Ch'Thoor-Ukh, was ready to meet his destiny.

xXx

"The Andorians did what?!" Archer knew he shouldn't be raising his voice when he was talking to Admiral Wetjelk and behind her all the admiralty, but this was simply too much. Part of him was thinking he should have known something was up when no hostage was killed that morning. But still. How could he ever had imagined that?!

"Captain Archer - Jonathan," Wtjelk talked in her most soothing voice. "We certainly understand how you feel, and remember the Empress has not consulted with Vulcan about this either. Actually, nobody has consulted with Vulcan" Wetjelk's bitter tone said volumes about the fact this was not for lack of trying "and we don't know how they will react."

"Why, you expect them to react positively?" That was a mad, mad world they were living in. He could tell them exactly how Vulcan would react, but he didn't think Wetjelk was quite interested in hearing his opinion on the subject.

"Remember that if Thoor-Ukh becomes an established political party on Andoria, it will save the lives of over two hundred hostages, including twenty-seven V'Shar agents and one Starfleet officer." She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

Archer sighed. Vulcan would have a hard time debating that fact. But he couldn't see them being quite thrilled about it. Good thing he was not the one who was going to tell them. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the admiralty.

"When are you letting Vulcan know?" Archer looked at Trip, who was standing in a corner out of the line of sight of the admirals. If they came back with him as the messenger, he would... he didn't know how he was going to react but it wouldn't endear him to any of the bigwigs.

"The President is talking to T'Pau as we speak." Archer let out the breath he had been holding. He looked out the porthole of his ready room to the Sahriv, hovering over the planet like a bird of prey. It would take about ten minutes before Captain Soljark learned about this latest twist in the situation at Sterth Vega III. Perhaps that would prompt Soljark to reach out and talk to him.

Perhaps.

But he wouldn't bet his last dime on it.

xXx

An ungodly shriek rang out on the basketball court. All the younger players hurried off, leaving two teenage boys in the middle of the court. Whatever words they were exchanging were too colloquial and spoken too quickly for the Universal Translators to grab on. Then one of the boys jumped the other, going for blood.

Hernandez had looked up when he heard the noise, gesturing out to the MACOs training on the other side of the gym that they needed to regroup. Phlox had warned them that there could be trouble and this certainly looked like it. Chaco was closest to him, and the two of them ran right out on the court to separate the combatants.

Or so they thought.

Hernandez found himself sitting on the sideline, dazed from a vicious elbow to the temple. Chaco was next to him, on his knees, trying to breathe over a fist to his solar plexus. The kids packed a punch. He got up and punched the intercom "Hernandez to MACO party. Riot gear. Stat!" He idly wondered if there was a code name for 'berserk Vulcan'. If not, they may want to create one.

Within minutes, six MACOs showed up on the court, helmets and full chest protectors on. They didn't need to ask Hernandez what was going on. The kid who was winning the fight on the basketball court looked like he was going for the kill. Three MACOs jumped on the boy's back, trying to get a hold of him. He turned around in a flurry of fists, elbows and knees and manage to shake them off, even got them to retreat a couple of yards, some reeling from the blows.

The next assault was coordinated among all six MACOs. Three Macos ended up holding to his legs for dear life while each of the other two had one arm in a lock and the last one kept him in a chokehold with a riot baton. Phlox already was running down the corridor to them.

"Tevoc! Tevoc!" he shouted as he came nearer. "Tevoc, you are safe! You are aboard the Enterprise! The people holding you are Federation personnel. They're trying to keep you from hurting yourself and others!" Phlox was in the kid's face, almost touching him but unable to because of the MACOs in the way.

"Tevoc!" Phlox kept saying again and again, entreatingly, repeating the same thing. Finally he saw the boy's pupils retract slightly and at the same time the MACOs holding his arms and legs felt the tension start to release from his limbs.

"Are you back with us?" Phlox asked "Say yes, and they'll release you."

The kid's eyes were back to normal now, no longer the bulging wells of fury they had been. "Yes" Tevoc finally whispered.

Phlox nodded to the MACOs who gingerly unhooked themselves from his limbs and took half a step back, ready to jump in again at the slightest sign of trouble.

The teenager turned to them "I beg forgiveness." He bowed at the MACOs, turned on his heels and stalked to the far corner of the gym, sitting on a pile of matt pads, angrily drawing the back of his hand over his eyes.

Phlox kept an eye on him as he spoke to Hernandez "Good job, thanks for letting me know. He'll be fine now. Let's give him some time and space." He stood staring at the boy for several long minutes after they left.

xXx

Rel and Oryl were looking over the storage rooms. Rel was taking his time, looking over the hostages one by one. He was not going for a repeat of the last time. He needed to make a statement but also not make such an egregious choice that it would turn the Empress against him. In the end, he would tell her it was all Oryl's doing, that he had been powerless to prevent it.

His gaze kept being drawn to the recently arrived hostages, the ones that had come in exchange for the kids. They were huddled closest to the door, the last ones to be chained in. He saw that Oryl too was looking that way. Examining them more closely, he could see they looked in better shape than the others, healthier. Perhaps it would be a fitting gesture to take one of the better looking specimens. After all, this might be the last one, if he had his way. And he was certain he would have his way.

Rel wasn't sure how to find one of the better-looking specimens, they were all uniformly deformed in his eyes, bereft of antennae and with these ugly ears. Still, one of them in particular seemed to stand out. He didn't know why. His gaze settled on the Vulcan, his face still marred by his encounter with the punishing Andorian line. Every time he looked at the other hostages, the image of that man seemed to superimpose itself on his mind. Rel gave up trying to find a better choice and looked more closely at the male in question. He was strapping, with a broad chest. He would do very well indeed.

Rel turned to Oryl and saw that Oryl was looking at the same hostage. He took that as a sign that this was indeed the best choice.

Neither of them were aware of the intensity in the hundreds of eyes looking at them. Neither of them would ever know that the choice had not been theirs.

xXx

Trip walked into the gym, saw the kid where Phlox had told him he would be. He walked over, sat in a meditation pause on the floor in front of him, earning a raised eyebrow as his reward.

"I came to meditate with you" he announced. He set the candle he had brought with him on the floor, waited with his thumb on the lighter, looking up at Tevoc.

The other eyebrow met up with the first one "What do you know about meditation, _qom'i_?"

'God saves us all from teenagers' thought Trip. He looked straight at the kid " _nash-qom'i du zeshau, Vuhikansu_." He always learned languages best through swearing. Tevoc's stunned expression revealed that he certainly had not expected Trip to know any Vulcan. The kid didn't need to know about his relationship with T'Pol, that was classified information as far as Vulcans were concerned.

"Meditation won't help". This time it was Trip's turn to be stunned. He almost had to pinch himself. That must be a first for a Vulcan. He looked up at Tevoc "That's what I used to say, too, but it turns out it does help quite a bit."

Phlox had nor really shared much about the kid's history, but Trip went out on a hunch, partly instructed by the fact that Phlox has specifically asked that the come and talk to Tevoc. If he knew the doctor…"My sister was killed by alien attackers, without any warning" he added.

Tevoc looked at him with a look between anger and despair "My mother and my sister were killed by the Andorian terrorists" he said in a soft voice "and my father."

Trip could only stare at the boy in sorrow. "You're the only one left?" he asked, mentally kicking himself. As if that was not obvious enough.

Tevoc nodded.

"And you think you didn't do anything to help them, right?" Trip asked again, also knowing the answer. There was nothing the kid could have done, and he was probably beating himself up about it. He couldn't help reflect he was hardly qualified to talk to the kid. His specialty was dealing with engines, not teenagers whose hearts and souls had been ripped open.

Tevoc looked away. "I didn't do anything". He said, still in a whisper.

"What could you have done?" Trip countered "All you would have done is get yourself killed, and your mom and dad would much rather see you survive. They know that at least one of their children is alive."

Tevoc glanced at him sideways, seeming to think through what he had said. "She was my younger sister" he finally added, as if this made her inherently more worthy of surviving.

Trip nodded "It doesn't work according to some logical precept. It's all random. Elizabeth was my younger sister too, which made it worse because I should have protected her, but I didn't. But in the end there was nothing I could do. It just happened all of a sudden, the skies opened and they started killing us. Them." He paused "What was her name?"

"T'Litah"

"I would have liked to meet her." Trip offered. "Come, let's meditate together and then you can tell me about her."

Tevoc seemed to hesitate then he slid off from the pile of matt pads and sat cross-legged in a mirror posture to Trip.

Trip leaned over and lit the candle.

xXx

"They're bringing another one in!" Reed's exclamation rang through the bridge.

Archer slammed his armchair rest in frustration. Couldn't the terrorists realize nothing would happen and let the hostages go free? There were two hundred men and women down there, and one of them was T'Pol.

Behind him, he sensed Trip intently staring at the screen. It would be another ten minutes before the Andorians turned the streaming feed on, to show the world they said what they meant and meant what they said. Ten minutes before they would know if the hostage they were bringing for the kill was T'Pol.

And what if it were. His brain simply refused to consider the possibility. It would be a catastrophic event that would redefine their collective lives.

The feed from the complex came live, and the image of the outside of the facility was replaced with that of the shooting range. A Vulcan male came into view and Archer released his breath, hating himself for feeling relieved it wasn't T'Pol, because still someone was dying that shouldn't have died. It filled him with a white hot hatred for everything the terrorists stood for.

"It's one of the exchanged hostages!" Hoshi exclaimed.

Archer looked more closely at the screen and recognized the thermal suit he wore. The man turned around as he reached the execution pole and they could see the vivid bruises marking his jaw and the healing wound on his forehead. Archer felt another wave of fury. The Federation had negotiated that these hostages would be unarmed. Obviously another point on which the terrorists had lied. Once again he wondered if the Vulcans were not right that there was no trusting the Andorians. He looked over at Trip, and saw the same thoughts in the anger pulsating along his jaw.

On the screen, Rel carefully went through the grotesque pre-execution routine, more carefully than he would have otherwise, almost appearing reluctant to do it. He needed to keep appearances up for the Empress. He walked over to the hostage and checked the restraints, then walked back by the rocket propeller, exchanging a few pleasantries with the gunner before turning back to the camera, solemnly serious.

Now was the time to go through the declaration of Thoor-Ukh's ideals and goals, and the cowardliness of the Federation that wouldn't accede to demands. At the last minute, he thrust the padd into the hands of a surprised Oryl. "You do it this time" he whispered to his friend, "they need to start seeing you for the leader you are. I have to talk to the Empress."

Rel turned on his heel and left, leaving a shocked Oryl behind. Oryl quickly recouped, straightening his antennae to their full height. He needed to prove he was the leader Rel thought he was, the leader he had known for a long time he could be. Behind him, the hostage's eyes narrowed slightly in frustration though his face remained blank.

Oryl raised his arm up in the air. Once his arm came down, the gun would fire, pulverizing the hostage into fragments that would be swept off the floor before the next hostage met his fate.

The Vulcan stared at him, calmly waiting. The arm came down.


	4. Mission Sterth Vega III

CHAPTER IV - MISSION STERTH VEGA III

 

The rocket propeller fired.

A horrendous explosion boomed across the feed and the shooting range erupted in great columns of white flame. The image on the screen frizzled and died, while the bridge crew covered their ears to try and chase the pain of shocked auditory nerves. Archer looked over at Reed "What the hell happened?!"

"I don't know, sir. There was a massive explosion on the planet."

"I can see that, Lieutenant! Trip, what's going on with the sensors?!"

"Sterth Vega III's still transmitting but the explosion must have fried their AV system. Until they turn it off, we're deaf and blind, Captain." Trip fingers were flying over his console. "I think the sensors feeding the main screen are shot." He turned to his intercom "Trip to Engineering, I need a repair crew up here, stat!"

"Travis, can you tell where we are?!"

"Still orbiting the planet, sir. Our position has not changed."

"Any way to tell what's going on down there?!" Archer was getting angry. There they were, deaf and dumb and blind, while god knows what was going on down below.

"Patching in the command center sensors, they were not affected."

"Good thinking, Trip. Travis, can you navigate by echolocation?"

"No reason why I couldn't, Captain."

"The Vulcans are moving!" Reed's shout cut across the bridge.

"Travis, follow them!"

"I'm on their tail, sir!" They could see the blips of the ships moving towards the planet at high impulse speed. The blips reached a low orbit around the planet and seemed to skim off it in a different direction.

"They're turning, Captain! Do I follow them?"

"No, Travis. Just get to their last orbit and stay there."

"They're launching shuttles!" Reed shouted. A dozen smaller blip replaced the six blips on the screen, arching down a gracefully decaying orbit to the planet surface.

"Trip, we need sensors back on! I want to see everything that's going on! Everything!"

"Sensors coming back on, Captain. On the main screen. The station stopped broadcasting." The image of sleek black cigars following a low orbit down to the planet below suddenly popped up on the screen. The shuttles seemed to plateau for a couple of minutes before resuming their long graceful curve to the ground.

"Keep an eye on these shuttles! And keep the complex in sight! Travis, where are the Vulcan ships?!"

"Back at their original location, Captain. Looks like they just wanted to unload the shuttles."

"The shuttles launched parachutes!" Reed shouted from his viewer. Dozens of black points appeared on the screen, suspended in the sky like inverted sarcophagi.

"That can't be, not at that height" Travis objected "they're way too high."

"Trip, can you also zero in on the parachutes? Or whatever those are?"

"I have them, Captain." The black oblong shapes appeared on a corner of the screen.

“Reed, what are the shuttles doing?!"

"Still going down. Landfall expected in five minutes."

"These are parachutes!" Travis whistled in a soft whisper. As one man, the bridge crew looked at the divers, taking in the absence of specially designed spacesuits or bulky life-support systems. They were encased in what seemed to be a flame-retardant fabric, looking like meteorites plummeting down through the atmosphere at inhuman speeds. Except that instead of a single individual engaged in an extreme space-diving feat they were looking at a small company of jumpers.

"What the hell are the Vulcans doing?!"

"Unknown, Sir." Archer threw an annoyed glance at Reed. He expected the not-getting-a-rhetorical-question from T'Pol, not from his human crew. She must be rubbing off on them.

"Speculate!"

Reed took a couple of steps towards the screen, squinting at the images. "The timing doesn't work for an airhead for the shuttles and there are no fortifications to speak of. The Vulcans can't be trying a frontal assault, that would be suicide. Their only tactical advantage would be to spread the terrorists defensively. It looks like a classic pincher move, shuttles on one side, jumpers on the other."

"Don't they realize the terrorists will kill all the hostages?" Tripp's voice trailed off as what he knew about Vulcans and rescue missions floated unsaid on the bridge.

"They're busy with the aftermaths of the explosion. They're not paying attention to what's happening outside. That's what the Vulcans are counting on."

"Let's hope you're right but the element of surprise isn't going to last forever. Any idea what the hell that explosion was about?!"

"Unknown, Captain, but I bet the Vulcans are behind it. I don't know how they managed to blow up the shooting range." Reed's eyes narrowed "Unless the last victim was the bomb." Silence floated on the bridge as realization slowly dawned. They had seen organic explosives before.

"Do you think there are more like him?" Trip was caught between admiration and horror.

"I have a feeling not. Unless every one of them was made into an organic bomb. But that would be way too risky. That was a huge explosion." Reed didn't need to comment about the amount of explosive that must have been used.

"But then how come they picked that guy and not someone else?" Hoshi cut in.

"We'll figure that out later." Archer diverted. "Reed, time to arrival?"

"Ten minutes or more, depending how fast they drop the last thousand feet."

"And the shuttles?!"

"They'll be landing in five."

"Trip, can you see what's going on in the operations complex?!"

"No sign of activity, Captain. Still no visual because of the smoke."

Archer looked at the screen, his jaw working. They could see shuttles going for a landing on the right side of the screen, the parachutists far away in the sky, and a massive cloud of smoke in where the operations complex used to be. Archer knew the paratroopers must have triggered small sonic booms. The atmosphere on Sterth Vega may be exceedingly thin, but it was still there. The terrorists had to have been alerted.

"Hoshi, get me Captain Soljark. On the double." Once he found out what happened, some ears would get pinned back, pointed or antennae or round, it didn't matter.

"They're not responding, sir. None of the Vulcan ships are."

Of course they were not responding, what else did he expect? "Patch me in to Starfleet. Stat. I don't care which admiral. Tell them the shit's hitting the fan." And that the Vulcans had done it again, gone off on their own without deigning inform their allies of their plans. He pretty much had had it with them.

"Aye, Captain" Hoshi's fingers darted over her console.

"Travis, where's Commander Kyre's ship?"

"The Andorian ship has not moved." At least that was one thing that was going according to plan.

"What can we do, Captain?"

"We watch, Ensign, we watch." Archer bitterly replied. Whatever was going on the planet was going to happen whether Enterprise was there or not. "There's nothing else we can do. And as usual we have no idea what the Vulcans are doing. Time, Lieutenant?" He was quickly running out of patience.

"Three minutes to shuttles landing, Captain."

The crew sat staring at the screen, watching the hundred or so shooting stars of the paratroopers arching their way to the ground, the black oblong shuttles melding into the dark grey atmosphere. The minutes stretched out to the point of discomfort.

"Fifteen minutes since the explosion" Reed's voice broke through the silence. Archer nodded, his mouth a thin line. On the screen, the dark cigar-shaped shuttles became visible against the lighter dusk of the ground before landing behind a small ridge about a mile off from the complex, half-hidden from ground-level view but not from Enterprise sensors.

Nothing seemed to be happening. They could see the shuttles hidden behind the ridge. There was no discernible activity. "They must be empty." Travis called out. "They only had enough space for the jumpers."

The collective attention went back to the paratroopers, who were within minutes of landing. The figures streaming head down to the planet upended themselves on by one, precision target parachutes slowing their descent.

The billowing smoke surrounding the operations complex had turned white and was not as dense. It looked like a chunk of the compound had caved in, blown apart by God knows what.

Suddenly Reed's voice cut through "Weapons fired in the armory!" His voice was pressing. Trip looked up at him with a frown.

"What's going on?" Archer hoped this was not the terrorists going after the hostages.

"Captain, there's activity at the operations complex" Trip urgently broke in. The general attention shifted to the operations complex, Andorian terrorists coming out at a run of the back of the building, sprinting across the flat ground to the armory. Suddenly energy bolts shot down from the sky, cutting them down.

"The paratroopers!" Travis shouted. "The paratroopers have opened fire!" Reed yelled at the same time.

A handful of jumpers were converging on the terrorists running to the armory and they could see the steel flash of rifles as they took deadly aim from the sky. On the ground the terrorists still alive rushed back inside the operations complex. Seconds later, the backdoors opened and a dozen more burst out, firing at the sky, trying to cut down the approaching troopers. The exchange of fire was as brief as it was deadly. Within minutes the bodies on the ground were echoed by those of the jumpers slowly spinning on themselves. The parachutes hit the ground laden with dead weight. The terrorists were now free to rush the armory.

"More weapons fire in the armory!" Reed's eyes were riveted to his console. "Another explosion. More than one. By the operations complex." He looked up at the screen.

The paratroopers were landing on the other side of the operations complex, firing at the terrorists as they came down, small clouds of stellar dust puffing up as they landed then quickly rolled out of the way behind the residential ruins. The flat terrain left them exposed to Andorian fire and the terrorists were firing explosive plasma rockets at them. The Vulcans responded with a barrage of energy bolts that crisscrossed the grey sky, scarring the outside of the complex.

"Are those breathing masks?" Archer asked.

"They've thought of everything" Reed muttered admiringly.

Now on the attack, the Vulcans put their hand to their belts and started lobbing mini-explosives at the complex, some with deadly accuracy, preventing the terrorists from forming a solid front. The Andorians concentrated instead on defending the armory. Everyone was looking at the battle unfold in tense silence.

Suddenly Travis exclaimed "Captain! Another explosion! Look!"

The bridge crew looked at where he was pointing, the back of the armory with the Vulcan shuttles in the distance. All they could see was smoke and debris, then the smoke cleared revealing a gaping hole, about two floors high. A small silhouette was momentarily framed in the opening before it slid down to the ground along the outside wall. Archer looked at Trip. That had looked suspiciously like T'Pol. More silhouettes were profiled briefly against the gaping hole and quickly followed the lead figure down. The few silhouettes turned into a crush of figures jumping out, forming a crowd at the base of the wall.

"Vulcans, Captain" the science ensign at T'Pol's station commented.

"These must be the hostages…" Trip couldn't believe his eyes.

"Travis, keep them in sight!" The helmsman nodded, wondering how he was supposed to keep track of all those things at once.

"The hostages be escaping" Reed commented drily.

Everyone stood transfixed by the truth of Reed's declaration. The two hundred or so hostages were going out the back door while the Vulcans kept the Andorians defending a flat strip of land in front of the complex.

Suddenly, a group of fifteen to twenty figures separated from the mass at the base of the wall and started running, keeping close to the ground.

"They're going to run out of oxygen..." Archer said in the silence that had gripped the bridge.

"The roof of the complex's been blown up and the atmosphere's shooting straight up. Since oxygen's heavier, it's falling back to the ground. Over a greater area but at lower concentrations." The science ensign quickly explained. "They'll be ok for three hundred yards or so, after that the atmosphere will disappear into thin air."

"Running through that can't be easy" Hoshi pointed out.

As if on cue, one of the shuttles lifted off on the right side of the screen and went to meet the running group, hovering about a yard from the ground. The crew watched in tense expectation as the hostages jumped or were pulled in, then the door lifted back up and the shuttle sped off. Another group of twenty or so hostages were already running across the ground. A second shuttle was taking off in the distance.

"Son of a gun!" Trip exclaimed.

Archer agreed. "Reed, how many shuttles on the ground?!"

"Fourteen in all, Captain."

That was enough for all the hostages. Before Archer could say so a bright glare shone across the left side of the screen, bringing everyone's attention back to the fight between the terrorists and the Vulcan paratroopers.

"Photonic bombs!" Reed called.

Archer restrained a shudder. This were bad memories from Vulcan. "Who's firing?!"

"The terrorists, sir!"

Archer's heart sank. It was an uneven fight. There was only so much a paratrooper could carry and the terrorists had the entire armory at their disposition, and now photonic bombs. The glare died down as the photonic bomb finished exploding, inflicting heavy personnel casualties. Bodies were strewn about among the ruins. Encouraged by the turn in the battle, the terrorists split into two attack groups, one firing at the paratroopers on the other side of the operations complex and the other at the hostages in the back of the armory.

The crew watched in helpless silence.

A flash exploded on the right side of the screen, as if the sun that didn't exist had decided to rise on Sterth Vega. The first bomb was well off target, exploding at a distance from the hostages and the armory.

"They're having trouble with their aim!" Travis exclaimed. The Andorians couldn't risk hitting the armory that the hostages were huddled against. Their only opening was to fire at them as they ran to meet the shuttles. They were trying to hit a running target, almost sight unseen.

The second photonic bomb hit closer to the group of hostages running across to be picked up by a shuttle. The lead hostage looked up briefly where the fire had landed and quickened the pace. A third photonic bomb exploded soon after. The hostages didn't slow down, each group methodically splitting off to run meet a shuttle, the departures staggered for maximum maneuverability for the shuttles. The ground was exploding around them as the terrorists tried to line them up in their sights, their fire getting ever more targeted.

"Travis, how many shuttles have left?!" Archer and the rest of the crew were watching in tense anticipation, fingers mentally crossed.

"This is group number six, Captain!"

It wasn't going fast enough. Archer could now see what the Vulcans had planned all along. But it wasn't going fast enough. On the screen, the group of hostages climbed aboard the shuttle, save for two lone figures who ran back to the armory. Probably V'Shar agents getting to the next load. Reed nodded. They would have only a limited number running the groups, the others must be protecting their rear.

The photonic bombs were getting closer. Soon, there was another blinding explosion, so close to the hostages that it looked like perhaps one of them was hit. Another group made it out. Another bomb exploded just behind it, and the combined effect was to form a large hole, a trench that was impassable by the hostages. They were isolated on the other side. The shuttles could still fly across but their range of action was now very limited.

"Captain!" Archer looked to where Travis was pointing. Blue heads with antennae were poking their heads through the hole in the wall of the armory. Rifles appeared, aiming clearly at the hostages remaining at the bottom of the wall. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

As if on cue, the Vulcans on the other side of the operations complex stopped firing. The terrorists did as well. Silence fell. There were no flashes from any weapon being discharged. Nothing needed to be said. It was all over. The terrorists would hold the remaining hostages as bargaining tokens. The remaining shuttles took off and blasted back into space. The bridge crew released their collective breath into a sigh of disappointment.

"Reed, how many hostages did they get out?" Archer asked in the resounding silence on the bridge.

"There were eight shuttles, Captain" Travis answered.

"Trip, I need you to review the tapes and establish a count of remaining hostages."

"Captain, transporter activity on the surface" Reed called. They watched the shimmering forms of the fighters and strewn bodies on the ground disappear, in small groups.

"Why couldn't they come down that way?" Hoshi asked.

"A transporter can only handle so many people at one time, even if you string seven ships together." Reed answered. "They couldn't have gotten everyone down before the Andorians noticed. They would have been shot as soon as they materialized."

xXx

_V'Shar Archives - Mission Sterth Vega III: Despite having the advantage of surprise, the attempt to free the hostages quickly stalled with high losses: 36 V'shar agents died in the fighting for the complex; 154 hostages were freed; 45 hostages and 11 V'Shar operatives were recaptured by the Thoor-Ukh terrorists._

xXx

** The Followers, one hour earlier… **

****

Oryl raised his arm up in the air. Once it came down, the gun would fire, pulverizing the hostage into fragments that would be swept off the floor before the next hostage met his fate.

The Vulcan stared at him, calmly waiting. The arm came down. The rocket propeller fired.

A horrendous explosion shook the building and the shooting range erupted in great columns of white flame.

Rel picked himself up from where the shockwave had thrown him, shaking his head against the dizziness that was scrambling his brains, gingerly checking that his antennae were intact. What in the deities name had happened? He turned back towards where he came from, but there was nothing there, just a cloud of smoke and dust from which Followers emerged, bent in half over coughing fits.

Rel started walking towards the shooting range. He had left Oryl in charge. Did Oryl give the wrong order? Did the rocket propeller explode? Perhaps the rocket got stuck on the launcher? As he approached he could see the shooting range was no more. The frame of the door was still there, standing incongruously without any wall left around it to frame. Behind it was a burned out crater that covered most of the room. The bodies of Followers were strewn near the door, seeming to sleep in relaxed poses, as if they were going to wake up at any time and tell Rel about the wondrous dreams they just had.

Rel stepped in through the doorframe. He ran to Oryl when he recognized his friend, flipped him over so he could check him for wounds. Half of Oryl's face was gone, his mouth distorted into a toothy half-grin, blue blood all over his remaining eye and antenna. Rel recoiled in horror, dropping the body in the dust. He looked around in shock, still unable to grasp what had happened. More Followers were running into the room, shouting for help, trying to revive their fallen comrades. Rel knew there was nothing to be done. It was all hopeless. A series of distant bangs sounded through the building, as if a plane had gone by too fast. The terrorists tensed in fear, waiting for the next explosion. But none came.

Rel looked around "Who died?" Riviass stepped up, silently supportive as always and quickly went through the list. Rel winced. His friends, his comrades, all carefully selected. Eight of them dead. The ones he could trust with the executions. It seemed so unfair.

"Leader, Leader, we're being attacked!" Kalias rushed in, shouting to be heard. "They're coming from the skies!"

"Leader, it must have been the Vulcans! That's the only answer. We need to get rid of the hostages now!" Riviass was jockeying for his attention

Rel just stood staring silently at them. It didn't matter anymore. He was covered in dust and blue blood. His antennae were rigid, his eyes wide. Things were going so well, and then, and then. He could not reconcile the before and the after. It was like a cruel joke of the universe.

But he wouldn't give up so easily. "The armory! We need the weapons!"

Riviass understood right away. "I'll take care of the armory. Zemi, you're with me!" Riviass was already at the tunnel entrance, he would pick his team along the way. He ran across the tunnel as fast as he could, Zemi behind him. The hated pieces of _azhoor_ had done it. They should just have killed them all right away. They were trying to start a revolution. Not to play politics. That's where they went wrong. Now Oryl was dead, and so were Byhk and Ibiriar, and Thette and Vythi. All gone, destroyed in the explosion, and if Rel had not been on his way to talk to the Empress, he would have been killed as well. And then, where would they be?

His grip tightened on his rifle in rage, he was going to show them, he was going to shoot every last one of those bastards laying in the storage rooms. And then they would deal with the attackers from the skies. But first, revenge.

He reached the end of the tunnel, and waited for Zemi, the loud echo of her approaching footsteps resounding through the empty corridor. The glory would be hers as well. Together, they ran up the stairs, barged into the armory.

They never knew that the _tal'shaya_ was what hit them. The V'Shar agents grabbed their guns and started shooting down the stairs, hitting three terrorists before the others safely retreated back to the operations complex.

"Leader, we don't need to go through the tunnel! We can go across the ground. There's an exit at the back" Shror was anxiously reporting how the hostages had attacked them. "Once we have heavy weapons, they won't stand a chance."

Rel watched him silently, understanding what the youth was saying but unable to act. He was scared. He had never been on the losing side before. And now Riviass and Zemi were dead. Two more of his selected companions. Only Kalias and Pashat were left, and that was because they were in charge of operations.

Now that the Vulcan hostages were gone, would the Empress still sit him at the governing council? He could only hope she wouldn't change her mind if he had nothing to negotiate with. "Yes, yes, we need to find another way." He heard himself say to the youth. They left.

It seemed like only a few moments had passed before Shror was running back "Leader, we have more dead! They're coming from the sky!" Rel shook his head. Riviass and Kalias had helped but now was time to focus. There was a war to wage. A battle to be fought. Thankfully, they had arms. He started running towards the back exit, calling to Shror as he did. "How many dead?"

"Fifteen" Shror quickly answered.

Rel nodded to himself. Thoor-Ukh was so small to start with. They had lost of lot of Followers and the ones that were wounded would not make it. He only had so many left, they had to be careful not to lose many more.

He quickly gave orders, waiting carefully away from danger inside the operations complex, then smiling benevolently at his cheering Followers as they celebrated having secured the way to the armory. Once they had the right weapons in hand the Vulcans guarding the tunnel would be easy to deal with, as would be those who came from the skies.

Those were already landing on the other side of the operations complex. Rel quickly positioned the Followers for maximum coverage, giving them orders to fire on anything that moved. All they had was their energy weapons but that would change fast.

"Kalias, Pashat, come with me!" Rel commanded. Kalias and Pashat were the ones best able to figure the technical aspects of the equipment they didn't know how to use, especially the photonic bombs. With those in hand, the attackers wouldn't stand a chance. Nor would the hostages. The three of them went back to the arsenal with a couple more Followers.

It was not an armory, it was a trove of deadly treasures. Kalias laughed as there were too many killing machines to count. The few Vulcans guarding the tunnel had been dispatched with, and now the entire armory was theirs. It was only a matter of time before they would get rid of the attackers as well.

Rel smiled as the small subgroup fired the first photonic bomb at the attackers, hitting wide and high, but this was the first shell, they would keep getting better. As they refined their aim and their technique, and the outcome of the battle slowly turned in their favor, he was able to divert another small group of Followers, to focus on where they could see the hostages running across the barren ground. It was impossible to hit them close to the armory or at least too risky. And the shuttles were too fast as moving targets for them to try and hit. But he would prevent them from leaving, given enough bombs.

"Let me go, Leader" Kalias implored. "I can find out how they escaped and kill them from behind."

"No"

"Why"

Rel looked at her "Because we don't know who will blow up."

Silence fell as she considered what he had said, nodding reluctantly. The next explosion could take the entire armory down, and then they would be defenseless. She gave Rel the salute of old "Then I will bring them back, Leader, for you to use as you see fit. This, I swear" and she took off, calling to her team. She would sacrifice as many of them as she needed, but she would get the hostages back.

Kalias smiled. It had been a fast and furious fight but they had finally taken care of the Vulcans guarding the conduit, and nothing had blown up. Still, her Leader had said not to kill the hostages and she would not disobey him. She looked down at the hostages from the edge of the hole on the second floor. They could no longer escape, the flat ground had become an impassable field of torn earth and deep troughs. She wiggled her antennae teasingly at them while her people held them in the sights of their long rifles. Nothing else needed to be said.

The sounds of battle died down, as if the Vulcans realized there was nothing left to fight for. They could leave, there were not enough Followers to go chase after them and in any case the Followers had the hostages. The ones standing by the wall and the couple more she could see making their way back, probably stopped in their flight by the well-aimed photonic bombs. There were enough to give Rel something to negotiate with. She wasn't sure what he was going to negotiate for, things had changed so much. But Rel always found a way. That was why he was their Leader. And that was why she would always be his most devoted Follower.

xXx

** The hostages, one hour earlier… **

 

Oryl raised his arm up in the air. Once it came down, the gun would fire, pulverizing the hostage into fragments that would be swept off the floor before the next hostage met his fate.

The Vulcan stared at him, calmly waiting. The arm came down. The rocket propeller fired.

A horrendous explosion shook the building and the shooting range erupted in great columns of white flame.

The shockwave reached the hostages as they were waiting in anticipation. Hands bound and chained in their back, they were not able to protect from the pain and disorientation of shocked auditory nerves. It took several seconds for even the V'Shar agents to become fully operational again, a variance from the mission plan that was closely examined and fully noted in the confidential debriefing report that would forever lie in the V'Shar vaults. Those lost seconds could have resulted in additional hostages being freed.

It took twenty-nine seconds before the V'Shar operatives were able to put the plan in motion. They had already prepared during the wait, working together to tear off pieces of the explosives-infused fabric that trimmed all of their clothes, then awkwardly managing to stick the unstable components to the chain that snaked in their back and the bar that it looped around. All that was needed to activate the chemical reaction was moisture of any kind. The gags prevented saliva but drops of blood were readily available. Reaching the waiting explosives was another feat of flexibility and collaboration. Finally, the liquid acted as a catalyzer, the fabric sizzling before it blew up in a cloud of smoke. The explosion was not large enough to injure those in proximity but still powerful enough to break through the chain and the bar.

Once they could get up and move around, it was quick work to use the same method and blow up the nearest set of manacles, taking pains to limit the organic damage. The first freed agent freed the one next to him, proceeding swiftly in spite of the burns on his fingers. The two freed agents freed two more, four freed four more, and the domino effect coursed through the storage rooms in an exponential wave of freedom.

T'Pol shook off the remnants of the manacles and tore the gag from her mouth, ignoring the dull ache in her jaw. She quickly made her way to the door, its sides already packed with explosives, turning away with the other agents at the warning sizzle of the chemical reaction. Once the explosion went off, the force field shimmered, turned on and off, then died.

The group of agents she was part of rushed to the spot they had scoped in the blueprints, where the large conduit that brought air to the armory was the most accessible. Another smaller group ran to the tunnel, setting up the block that would prevent the terrorists from making their way in.

The telepathic V'Shar link informed the agents that it had been six minutes and thirty-two since the explosion. The noises and yells that were filtering through to them meant that the terrorists had their hands full. Still, there was no time to waste. A series of small sonic booms had already shaken the air. Soon, the terrorists would realize they were being attacked and run to the armory.

Four agents created a human ladder to the high ceiling. In an orderly and pre-orchestrated way, one of the V'Shars peeled the arm trim around his forearms, stuck it against the ceiling. Another agent provided the missing component. There was a sharp rasp and a hole blew in the ceiling, revealing the air conduit coursing right above. Another patch, another explosive reaction, and the conduit was accessible.

T'Pol climbed up the operatives and hoisted herself into the conduit, her counterpart, T'Mara, a senior agent, following right on her heels. The conduit was not large enough that they could stand or walk and T'Pol started swiftly crawling down its length while T'Mara stayed back, coordinating with the agents behind to get the hostages up into the conduit as quickly as possible, before following T'Pol at a rapid clip. They had been selected because their small size allowed them more flexibility and ease in the space they were bellying through.

Fifty yards in, the conduit fed into a larger tube, but the way forward was blocked by a steel mesh with large openings. T'Mara handed T'Pol a piece of trim. T'Pol combined it with one of hers and placed the resulting bomb in the center of the mesh. They both stepped back as the detonating mix activated, huddling with their faces away. The resulting explosion sent a plume of debris straight at them and T'Pol felt small pieces hit her thermal suit, some embedding themselves through the fabric. She blocked the pain and followed T'Mara down the larger tube.

Based on the memorized schematics of the facility, the larger conduit would eventually find its way to the outside wall, a man-size air exchanger the only barrier remaining between the hostages and freedom. They could walk through the larger tube at a half bent. The hostages following behind were moving more slowly, the men too large to easily fold into the conduit, the women weak from days without enough food or water.

Another hundred and fifty yards later the tube came to an abrupt end as it elbowed up to a point high above their heads. T'Mara and T'Pol were able to stand in the now vertical conduit, looking up the air shaft. They could feel the cold air washing past them as it was being sucked into the facility. The schematics had been inaccurate. Instead of existing straight through the wall in front of them, the end of the tube went up two floors to another opening. Fifty feet higher than expected.

Far in the distance, they could hear weapons being fired. The terrorists were starting to regroup, may have already found their way to the armory. T'Mara and T'Pol exchanged meaningful glances. Only time would tell if it was the terrorists shooting or their own people. They looked back into the conduit but the hostages were blocking the view. Another group of agents was slated to follow the last hostage into the conduit and prevent the Andorians from coming through for as long as they could.

They turned back to the shaft, looking for access ladders or any hint of spaces big enough for fingers and toes to grab a hold. If it had only been V'Shar operatives, scaling up to the air intake would be no issue. But they had two hundred hostages following them, with varying degrees of training and physical fitness.

A third V'Shar agent made his way through and joined them. Seventeen minutes and thirty-six seconds had passed since the explosion. They should already be out of the armory. The three operatives looked at each other, reaching a common decision. However dangerous, there was only one option.

Within minutes, a large volume of trim had been torn off and strategically placed against the end of the conduit, splayed in an outward pattern to maximize the reach of the explosion. Other operatives had made their way through the head of the line and were guiding everyone back as far as they could. The three of them took off at a run as the fabric started sizzling, not fast enough for the quantity of explosive they had used. They were still yards from the hostages when the conduit exploded behind them, the force of the explosion propelling T'Pol and T'Mara straight into the mass of agents and hostages.

T'Pol remained dazed for a few seconds while the conduit filled with smoke. The hostages were unarmed. An agent helped her to her feet. Finally she could see again through the smoke though there was a muffled roar that prevented her from hearing anything. She saw T'Mara next to her move her lips, but there was no sound that she could perceive. She grabbed her wrist instead and she got a smattering of images, a large hole to the outside wall, the hostages running down the tube - they had to start moving.

She turned to the hostages behind her and rather than speak, motioned that they should move ahead. They fell in line behind her and T'Mara, crawling past the operative who had detonated the charges, unconscious and bleeding against the wall of the conduit.

The explosion had torn a hole through the conduit and through the outside wall right behind it. The opening was wide enough for two to walk through, and T'Mara kicked crumbling building blocks out of the way to enlarge it even more. The two women stood at the edge, waiting for the smoke to clear so they could have a better view of what lay below, looking up at the exchange of fire that was illuminating the sky high above their heads. The fabric in their thermal suit darkened in reaction to the ambient light so that it was almost impossible to see them in the shadows.

Twenty-six minutes and sixteen seconds had passed since the explosion. They were now at the expected point but it had taken six minutes and twenty-nine seconds longer than planned. And they were still two stories up from the ground.

T'Pol's hearing had returned and she heard other operatives urging the hostages on. Enough of the smoke had cleared. T'Mara climbed down, scaling the outside wall for a short distance before she hung from her fingertips then dropped to the ground and rolled. In turn T'Pol scaled the wall, going as far as she could before she dropped, T'Mara easily catching her fall. Hostages and V'Shar agents followed in a steady stream of bodies that could briefly be seen against the dark of the conduit, some jumping straight out into the void to the receiving arms below.

The battle was raging on the other side of the operations complex, keeping the terrorists distracted. The operatives quickly formed loose groups of twenty or so, making sure to apportion the able and the less able for optimal collective survival. T'Pol looked back at the crowd that was now at the foot of the armory wall. She caught sight of Sverig, tall against the wall, assembling a group of hostages.

Half the V'Shar agents had stayed behind to fend off the Andorians and prevent them from coming after the hostages too quickly. That left only a dozen or so operatives for a dozen or so groups when two operatives were needed to bookend each group and make sure nobody faltered along the way. Each of them would have to make two runs.

It was time. T'Mara nodded at her and they peeled off with the first group, T'Mara in the lead. T'Pol could see the shimmering of the oxygen falling down from where the operations complex shot it into the air. Where it no longer reached, the thin atmosphere was a more opaque grey. She grabbed the arm of the man ahead of her as he stumbled, kept him going in rhythm, there was no time for any misstep or possible hesitation.

Suddenly the dark mass of a shuttle appeared, thankfully ahead of where the atmosphere became too thin. The hostages struggled against bodies weakened by forced inactivity and lack of food to reach the shuttle. The door was lowered and they climbed in as they could in the hovering vessel, the co-pilot and T'Mara bodily lifting those that had trouble. T'Pol helped with the last few. The door lifted shut and T'Mara looked at T'Pol. Without a word they turned around and started back for the armory, running as fast as their training permitted.

The run back was beyond exhausting, the thin atmosphere unable to support the demands of jacked-up metabolisms. It made breathing excruciatingly difficult and painful. T'Pol crouched by the wall, trying to take in as much oxygen as she could before she would have to run again, waiting for the brief signal that meant her group would go next. Her heart was pounding in her ears. The other V'Shar agents were all close to the wall where logically the air would be richer, taking in great gulps that didn't help much. They all had already run twice across the barren landscape. Now it was back to being her turn. It would be her last run, she would climb aboard the shuttle with the hostages, ears ringing and heart close to exploding from the thin air.

The sounds of the battle being waged around the operations complex had dimmed for a while but any optimistic expectation had been defeated by the glare and clatter of photonic bombs that erupted soon after. The terrorists had access to the entire paraphernalia of the space station and they were putting it to good use. Their access to bigger and more powerful weapons meant they had been able to enter the armory. The V'Shar agents inside must have died to the last man or else had retreated and were among those defending the conduit at all costs.

T'Pol nodded to T'Mara as she gave her the 'are you ready' signal. The hostages had been instructed to crouch as they ran and the group took off in an orderly line. She was covering their rear flank, her shields up against the pain of oxygen-starved muscles, the bruises of exploding ordnance thankfully out of reach.

Theirs was the seventh group. Each shuttle could hold up to twenty upright adults, crammed like sardines in a can. That meant close to 140 hostages had been snatched from the grip of Thoor-Ukh. There were only four more groups after hers. Including the agents. Three minutes to reach the shuttle with the group, three minutes to load the hostages and run back. The six-and-a-half minute delay had cost them one run. There was nothing to be done about it. They would debrief what went wrong, log it into the common repository of knowledge for another similar mission. Though it was a well-established fact that missions were never similar.

The raging battle at the operations complex showed no signs of abating, even though the Vulcan forces had to be running out of ammunition. A subgroup of terrorists had shifted their aim to the hostages, trying to get them with photonic bombs, so far to no avail. But their targeting skills were improving. A couple of bombs had blown close to the last two groups, though too far to inflict damage, but they were getting closer. It was just a matter of time.

A blinding light brought her nictitating eyelids down and then a huge mass of air pushed her forward like so much shaft and she rolled on the uneven ground.

She couldn't move. Her eyes were wide open and there was no pain. Time slowed to a crawl. She could see a couple of the hostages in the rear of her group stagger, then start running again. She was the only casualty. She saw the group get into the receiving shuttle. The air was thin but somehow she was not struggling to breathe, the heavier oxygen must be closer to the ground. Another group of hostages crossed her vision, and another shuttle came up to meet them. That was the eighth group. Two more photonic bombs fell right where it had been, opening the ground up in huge craters that would be impassable for anyone. If the hostages could no longer get out, the battle would stop.

She could no longer feel her arms or legs, just the weight of her body pressing against the ground. She could not move her head. She saw Trip crossing the ground towards her. She knew he was on Enterprise, orbiting the planet, he couldn't be walking on the surface. And yet he seemed so real... She knew that her brain was creating that illusion, that it was a sign of a massive injury. She fought will all her might to remain anchored in reality, but the image of Trip now running towards her would just not go away. She felt a great sadness that she would leave him. As darkness claimed her, she wondered if that was what death felt like.

Her last thought was the fascinating coincidence that photonic bombs would claim the lives of both her mother and her.

xXx

The deadly ballet of photonic bombs had stopped, the Vulcan shuttles had flown off and the Vulcan armed forces had disappeared in transporter beams, there were no hostages left by the back wall of the armory, yet the bridge crew waited a while longer. For what, they didn't know. The whole thing had lasted less than an hour, and it had felt so unreal. It seemed that if they waited just a little bit longer, they would see more Vulcans attacking the operations complex and more Andorians defending it.

When it became clear that the battle was over, Archer broke the silence "Hoshi, patch me to the Vulcan Starship."

He had never seen the officer who answered, a young man who seemed simply too young to be on the bridge. Though with Vulcans one never knew. But Archer had not seen him on any of their trips to the Sahriv, or on the bridge when he talked to Soljark. A cadet perhaps. Archer looked at him, wondering where the captain and the bridge complement were.

"Captain Archer here. Can you tell us what the hell happened down there?" Archer was irritated. He'd about had it with Vulcans and their secrecy. The only Vulcan he wanted to see right now was the one who should be manning the Enterprise science station. The rest of them could pick up and take off to wherever as far as he was concerned. Except for the matter of the hostages. He had almost forgotten about the hostages. He sighed. Things were never simple, were they...?

"Sub-Lieutenant Prietor, Captain. We apologize for any damage our intervention may have caused."

"Damage?" gosh, the kid was so young. "You didn't cause any damage, but some warning would have been appreciated. What the hell happened down there anyway?"

Sub-Lieutenant Prietor straightened up "There was a concerted effort to extract the hostages, Captain. It was not entirely successful, due to the terrorists learning to use the photonic bombs. But we were able to retrieve a majority of the hostages." The young man turned to someone in the back, seemed to be listening to a report, then turned back to the main screen "The last shuttles are coming back on board, Captain. We have not fully debriefed about casualties. Captain Soljark will be in contact when he comes back. Sahriv out." And ever so politely, the youth cut off the connection.

Archer stared at the screen halfway between slack-jawed and annoyed, then turned to Reed "What do you make of it?"

His Tactical Officer was standing random straight, his rigidity a clear signal that he was far from happy with recent developments. "You'd think they'd warn us or involve us somehow" he responded.

Archer nodded "Yes, they clearly consider this is a private turf war, nothing to do with us." He looked at the screen again. Not that he minded, Starfleet would not want to be involved in such a mess. But still…

"Did you see T'Pol down there?" the question came from Trip. Archer reflexively shook his head no then looked at Reed with a question mark. Reed also shook his head. "Not that I could tell, between how dark it is down there and everything going on. Lieutenant Reed didn't see her either." Trip looked back to his console, a muscle working in his jaw. Archer could certainly sympathize with his engineer. He noticed from the corner of his eye that Travis had swiveled his chair around, was looking intently at him.

"Yes?" he turned to Travis, read in the younger man's face that there was something he didn't want to say out loud. Archer nonchalantly took a look around the bridge.

"Well, I guess all we can do is wait for Captain Soljark and the Vulcans to deign catch us up on what happened down there. Ensign Mayweather, can you join me in my ready room, I want to review our orbit positioning."

Archer could almost feel Travis breathing right down his back as he walked to his ready room. He would have to tell the young man to be a little less conspicuous, perhaps wait fifty feet or so before starting after him. Once the door to his ready room was safely shut behind them, Archer turned to him "You saw something?"

The navigator nodded several times, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down his neck. "I saw her, Captain, she was down by where the hostages were. Right before the bombs blew up in the same area."

"But you didn't see her get hit?" He asked Travis.

"No I didn't, but… she was no longer there. After the bombs."

"Are you sure it was her? I mean, none of us couldn't really see the hostages -"

Travis emphatically nodded "It was her, Captain. I could bring up the tapes, but I didn't want to, with Commander Tucker there…"

Archer sighed, holding the bridge of his nose. The sigh was both for him and for Trip. He so much hoped Travis was wrong but could see in the eyes of the Ensign that he was certain to have seen T'Pol. His only hope was that perhaps he had been mistaken. She was not the only female to have been part of the hostage exchange.

Yet, he was pretty certain Travis was right. If only because he remembered the slim figure that had looked like her even through the smoke and with almost no light. If he could tell just like that, so could Travis and everyone else on the bridge.

Archer shook his head "That could be completely unrelated. There are dead angles even in the sensors. Or she may have gotten on one of the shuttles with the hostages." They had seen a couple of V'Shar get on board at the end, as if their presence was no longer needed. He knew he was grasping at straws, but straws were pretty much all he had to grasp at. He looked outside the windows of his ready room. "Whatever you saw, keep it to yourself until we have official validation."

"Aye Captain." Archer could tell the young man was relieved but morose. He certainly could understand. All the excitement about the hostages being freed had just died within him as well.

"Oh" he called to Travis as he was exiting the ready room "and go through the tapes after your shift, see if you can figure out anything more." He knew Travis wouldn't mind the extra work. The two of them would be unable to relax until Travis had an answer.

xXx

Rel sat back on his stool with a sigh. He couldn't believe it was all over and he could even less believe they were still alive. As it was they only had half the operations complex available to them anymore. The explosion in the shooting range had effectively cut the building in two. The other half was still usable but it would be unpractical to split their forces that way. Thankfully, the fuel rods were still whole and they would have oxygen long after they left the planet. All of this thanks to Kalia. And Pashat. He looked over at the tall Andorian female who had effectively become his most trusted companion.

"The hostages are secure" she told him.

He nodded absent-mindedly "Where are they?"

She smiled wolfishly. "I have half of them in the detention room on the first floor and half of them in the conference room on the second floor. Diametrically opposite from each other. Under constant guard. They've been warned that the first one that does anything, we'll go and kill everyone in the other room."

She didn't add that they hadn't gagged and bound the Vulcans. The Followers were afraid to touch any Vulcan lest they explode and the fear, which she held to be completely irrational, had infected her and led her to go easy on her people. The most she could get out of them was to herd the Vulcans at gunpoint into the two rooms and switch the forcefields on. The Followers in charge of guarding the hostages had their guns drawn and pointed at the Vulcans at all times, fearful that the forcefield would magically fail and the hostages rush them. Or that they would make them shut the forcefield down.[1] She had to change the guard every two hours, they were so scared. The Vulcans were devious and their mind tricks dangerous. If it were not that Rel needed them for his plans, she would have just as well gotten rid of the whole of them.

"What about the communication system?" Rel asked. It was one thing to have the hostages, but if they couldn't tell anyone about their demands, it wasn't going to help them much.

"We're still working on it" Kalias edged, unhappy not to be able to deliver a fully functional system to her leader.

"We need the communications system. Without it, we can't even tell the Federation and the Vulcans what we want from them."

"Pashat and I are working on it, Leader" Kalias left hurriedly. She couldn't bear to disappoint him. And Rel's negotiations were the only way to get rid of the Vulcans.

Rel watched her leave, a frown in his face. Hopefully, she wouldn't fix it too quickly. He still had no idea what he was going to do now. He counted on the deities to talk to him, like they always did. He took what happened as a sign that they were challenging him. Of course, he needed to prove that he was worth their attention. Every hero had to go through travails before he became a hero. He would raise to the level of their expectations. He would become a respected leader of Andoria, that he knew.

The question was whether that would come with a seat on the governing council or if he would just have to impose his will independently. That, only the deities knew.

xXx

They had been waiting for what seemed like hours to hear about the battle and its outcome. Finally, Commander Kyres was on the screen, telling them of bodies lying all around, of not being able to tell which were which. It looked like most of the casualties were Vulcans, but again he couldn't see inside the complex, had no idea how many Followers were left.

"Has Rel contacted the Federation?" the Empress was wondering about the prolonged silence from the leader of the terrorists. She had no issues with the Vulcan attack, and only regretted they were not able to free all the hostages.

"There has been no transmission from the planet, your Highness" Kyres replied "We don't know if it's because their system is down after the explosion or because they're regrouping."

The Empress nodded, looking over at Okassehr. "And the Vulcans?"

"Still no word from them, your Highness. Since before the attack. Our spies report that they didn't tell the Federation about their plans either. We have been monitoring their communications with Enterprise, but they appear to have had as little contact with the Vulcans as we have."

"We did give them carte blanche" Okassehr said softly into the room.

The Empress nodded. "The Vulcans did what needed to be done. How many hostages were freed?"

Kyres looked offscreen, asking one of his commands, then turned back to her. "We won't know until we have confirmation from the Vulcans, but we think only forty or fifty are left."

Okassehr nodded in approval. "So most of them got out."

"Over a hundred at least" Kyres agreed.

"That is pleasant news" the Empress finally smiled.

xXx

Phlox hummed to himself as he pulled out the cage and put it on the counter. Feeding his menagerie was always the high point of somber days, and these were somber days indeed. The crew may be exulting about the freed hostages but many had died freeing them, people who had loved ones, perhaps more than one wife, and possibly children. And not every hostage was accounted for. Especially one certain female Vulcan he was quite fond of, his only non-Human friend on Enterprise.

His animals, vertebrate or not, were always a welcome distraction when his thoughts broodingly turned to considerations of life and death. He threw a juicy morsel at his bat, who caught and hungrily ate it, and he reached to grab the canister with the slugs for his Erh'ydrin Dragon. And froze.

He stayed unmoving for a few seconds, then very carefully took hold of the canister, brought it to him. He turned slightly so that he was no longer hiding the large lizard from the rest of Sickbay, all the time staring fixedly at the canister. Then carefully, slowly, he extracted a slug from the canister, opened the top of the cage and threw the slug in, managing to not lose sight of the canister as he did so. Ah, there it was again.

He turned around and looked at Sickbay, where the only visibly occupied bed had a five year old boy who was staring unseeingly into space. The curtains on the other biobed were closed, but he had reflected that keeping the catatonic boy stimulated through the sights and sounds of every day Sickbay while he waited for a Vulcan healer was a much better approach than leaving him isolated behind white curtains. And it seemed perhaps he had been right. He couldn't know for sure, but he had the beginning of an idea. An experiment of sorts. He reached for the intercom.

Archer stepped into Sickbay, glad to see the place was once again empty, except for the bed occupied by the little boy whose mother had been killed and the one hidden behind isolation curtains. He wasn't sure if the boy saw him, even though his eyes were wide open. Phlox was coming from the other direction and Archer looked questioningly at him.

"Ah, Captain"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind parting with Porthos for a little while, hmm? I would like to run an experiment."

"Porthos?" Archer looked at Phlox in surprise, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously "What kind of experiment?"

"Oh, nothing like that, not at all," Phlox cheerfully answered. "It's for the boy. I'm sure you've noticed him?"

"I was going to ask you"

"Ah, yes, he is still in dissociative catatonia. At least, that's what I thought, but I'm not so sure it's the full-blown psychosis. Perhaps a stress-triggered dissociative form. You know, the shock of seeing his mother killed under his eyes, poor thing."

Archer was not following what Phlox was saying. "Do you think he would be better off the Vulcan ship?" he prodded, but Phlox shook his head "Until we can have a Vulcan healer it really makes no difference. The only thing that would help is if his father gets out alive and he is reunited with him. Assuming the father is able to withstand the death of his bondmate." A shadow fell on Phlox's face. "We don't have word about the hostages, do we?"

"Not yet, we're still trying." Archer was a little sore where the Vulcans were concerned and the turn in the conversation was not one he cared for. He went back to the initial topic of discussion. "And you need Porthos because?"

That brought a smile back to the doctor's face. "As I was saying" he started, leaving Archer wondering when he had been saying anything of the sort "When I was feeding my Erh'ydrin Dragon, I caught the boy's reflection in the canister where I keep the food." Archer nodded along, wondering if this was going to be another of the doctor's interminable stories "And I could swear his eyes saw what I was doing. For a couple of seconds at least."

Seeing that this didn't get any reaction from Archer, Phlox frowned and bounced a couple of times on the balls of his feet. "That means that perhaps he can be reached, with the right stimuli. I was wondering if you could lend me Porthos for a day, or perhaps overnight. It's not like one of my bats or my slugs, where there is little chance for interaction, hmm? Perhaps the boy will react."

"Of course, you can have Porthos" Archer quickly agreed, hoping it could work. "I'll bring him along this afternoon."

He realized how much he needed something that would keep his hopes up. There was no telling what was going to happen with the terrorists and the hostages, and now there was a possibility T'Pol may be MIA.

 

[1] Note: which shows how little Andorians know about Vulcans as enough Vulcans focusing together can influence another's action, but they cannot make them take an action they didn't want to take in the first place.

xXx

"Your Highness! Vulcan ships are moving!" Commander Kyres exclaimed. Behind him, there was a rush of activity on the bridge, officers shouting at each other. The Empress and Okassehr looked at each other, wondering what was taking place but too far away to do anything about it. Kyres had been updating them further on the outcome of the battle. Finally his face came back on the screen "My apologies, your Highness. Two of the Vulcan ships broke away at warp seven. They are no longer orbiting the planet."

"The Vulcans are no longer orbiting the planet?" Okassehr asked for confirmation.

"No, Senior Advisor, the Vulcans are still orbiting the planet. I meant the two ships that left."

"What do you think it was?" Okassehr asked.

"The hostages" the Empress softly said, wondering why it was so obvious to her and so much of a mystery to both men.

They digested what she said for a few seconds, then Kyres looked up again "Yes, they would bring the hostages back to Vulcan."

"Why two ships?" Okassehr was not an action man, had never served in the military.

Kyres refrained from sounding pedantic "Each ship has a complement of 147 crew. Even with a skeleton crew, each ship would require almost a hundred crew members for a trip of several days at warp speed. There would leave room for fifty guests, seventy at the most. After that, you run into supply issues." He paused in thought "But they don't have room for all of the hostages even on two ships."

Once again the Empress wondered why the answer was not obvious to the men. "The children" she hinted.

They looked at her nonplussed. The Empress explained "You said the children were on Enterprise."

"Yes" Kyres agreed, "On neutral ground."

"Has that changed?"

"Enterprise has not been in contact with the Vulcans."

"The parents didn't leave without their children" the Empress pointed out, realizing she need to make it bite-size. "The parents of those children are on the remaining Vulcan ships. If there are twenty-seven children, there may be up over fifty parents. That would leave only a hundred hostages to go to Vulcan. Only two ships."

Okassehr and Kyres both nodded as they understood. "So they'll need another ship for the parents and the kids and one more for the rest of the hostages. That means they have three ships that are fully manned" Okassehr was thinking out loud.

Kyres agreed, antennae bent forward. "They had close to two hundred people on the planet, between the fighters, the hostages that were exchanged, and the shuttles. They would need three ships for that, possibly four." Unless the crew served double-duty as a fighting force, Kyres thought, but he didn't want to complicate things for Okassehr and the Empress.

"And how many terrorists are left?" the Empress asked.

"We don't know exactly how many died, but we know quite a few died. Possibly eighty left?" Kyres replied.

The Empress sighed. Didn't Rel realize that he had already lost? What exactly did he expect to achieve, even with fifty hostages, against a force of two hundreds? All he was doing was postponing the inevitable.

She turned to Okassehr "What do you think he's going to ask for? He has lost a lot of power now, he can't keep asking that Vulcan withdraw from the Federation." And if he started again with the hostages, she could see the Vulcans logically deciding to sacrifice the hostages and killing every last person on that planet.

Her advisor shook his head "Based on my experience with hostage situations since before your Highness was born, they're going to change tactics. Now their focus is going to be on saving themselves."

xXx

Hoshi turned to Archer. "The Sahriv is hailing us, sir."

"On the screen." Perhaps they were going to explain why two of the starships hightailed it out at warp seven. Though he had a good idea that was to get the hostages back to Vulcan. Could they be more tight-lipped about the whole thing? Archer had to admit that if these were Human hostages and Human starships, he would see no reason to share what they were doing about the hostages with aliens.

The Vulcan seating in the command chair was not Captain Soljark, but his First Officer. From the bruises visible on his face, he had seen some recent action. That was when Archer realized why Sub-Lieutenant Pretior had been on the bridge alone earlier. The entire crew had participated in the action. He felt Reed straighten up at the screen. No doubt the tactical officer had come to the same conclusion.

Archer nodded at the Vulcan, not knowing his name. "Where is Captain Soljark?" he asked.

The officer eyed him back without expression. "He is being attended to by our physician. He will be on the bridge in two hours and thirty-six minutes. Perhaps you would wait for him?"

Archer shook his head "No, no, that is quite all right. And you are?"

"Sub-Commander Sproie." Archer felt a tug at the title. It reminded him of his first encounter with T'Pol.

"Perhaps you care to tell me what exactly went down, planet-side?"

"Went down?" Sproie's eyebrow indicated he was nonplussed.

"What was that about? What happened? We thought you were engaged in negotiations?" What Archer really wanted to do was to grab the officer by the throat and ask him why in heavens name they hadn't thought it worthwhile to inform the Federation and Enterprise, their supposed allies, of what they were planning.

The officer replied in a characteristic Vulcan way "Our plan was for our V'Shar operatives to release the hostages from the facility while we put in place tactical support and transport to take them off the planet. As Sub-Lieutenant Prietor told you, we were able to reclaim the majority of the hostages before the terrorists learned to use the photonic bombs that were part of the military arsenal. There are ten V'Shar operatives and forty-three hostages left on the planet."

He seemed to hesitate, then went on "We have a number of casualties, both V'Shar and crew. Unfortunately, your Science Officer, T'Pol, was one of the V'Shar casualties."

Archer could only stare at Sproie incredulously. Beside him, he heard the sharp intake of breath that told him Trip had just processed the news.

"Are you sure?" Trip had walked up to the command chair. The Vulcan officer didn't seem to find the interruption out of the ordinary. He cocked his head to the side as he replied "She was helping the hostages board the shuttles and was in the line fire of one of the photonic bombs. The hostages in her group saw her being hit. We have not been able to retrieve a body."

A deathly silence fell on the bridge as the enormity of what Sproie had just said filtered through. Archer wanted to ask Sproie if he was sure, tell him to look again. There had to be a body somewhere. Unless it had been a direct hit. Archer turned to look at Trip, saw in his eyes that he simply couldn’t process what had just been said. He looked back at Sproie "I'm sorry, but I don't believe that and I won't believe it until I see a body. We're going to need a little bit more than your say-so before we just chalk Commander T'Pol off as being dead. I'm sure you understand."

The Vulcan officer nodded, then sensing that Archer was close to ending the conversation, made a gesture with his hand to stop him "Captain."

"Yes?!" Archer may be in shock but he was still irritated. Actually he was steaming mad. He had loaned them his First Officer and all they could come back with was that she had been a casualty and they didn't even have a body? A part of him that wouldn't be silenced kept whispering that perhaps they were so ready to accept her death because she was a Starfleet officer serving on a Human ship.

Sproie looked down and to the side, as if he had trouble remembering the script he was supposed to follow. "Actually, we made contact with your ship to request the presence of Dr. Phlox on board." He looked straight at Archer again "We have a number of casualties among the crew and also some hostages and our medical team is finding itself short-staffed. We understand the timing is awkward but were wondering if Dr. Phlox could join us."

Archer eyed Sproie through narrowed eyes. You bet the timing was awkward. At the same time his orders were clear "I am sure the doctor will be happy to help." Sproie looked as relieved as could be for a Vulcan, made a move to disconnect the connection.

Archer stopped him with a quick raised hand "I will also accompany the doctor, along with my senior officers. Starfleet policy," he added, smiling at Sproie, even though there were no Starfleet policies on point. He would ask Hoshi to make one up if need be. "Just a courtesy visit." His eyes belied his smile.

To his credit, Sproie knew when to fold them. He nodded briskly. "We shall await you."

The main screen went dark. Beside him, Trip was still stuck in place, looking deathly pale. Archer could only imagine - no, he couldn't. He was lying to himself if he pretended he could imagine how Tucker felt. Nobody moved on the bridge, everyone dumbstruck by the turn of events.

It was Hoshi who finally got up from her chair and walked to Trip. "Oh, Trip" she said, and grabbed the engineer in a bear hug. He let her do it but shook his head once she had released him "It can't be" he said, "It's not true. I know it's not." Even if T'Pol has suppressed the bond, he would have felt something if she died. He was certain of it. It couldn't be otherwise.

Archer had gotten up from his chair, put his hand on Trip's shoulder. "Until they've found a body, nothing is final. We'll go over there and see what we can learn. Meet us in the shuttle bay at 1600."

Trip nodded silently. He couldn't get his head around it. Before the Vulcan shuttle came to get her T'Pol had explained that it would be wiser to suppress the bond so that if something happened to her he didn't have to experience it. It had felt strange, not having her presence in his head, that little spark that let him know everything was ok with the world. Now, he couldn't wrap his head around it. She was there, she had been there, and now she was not? Just like that? And he didn't get to say goodbye, he didn't get to do anything, just sat like a silent witness while things went to hell on the planet's surface? The entire sequence felt wrong, his mind was going in all directions thinking about what he could do to change the outcome.

He needed a rewrite.

xXx

The mood was grim. The news had already permeated the entire ship and everyone was subdued, especially the longer-tenure crew who had had the opportunity to get to know their resident Vulcan over months and years in space.

Like most of the crew, Phlox secretly didn't believe T'Pol was dead, even though he knew it to be wishful thinking. But he had plenty to keep his mind occupied and stop him from sinking into despair. His thoughts were with the children as he walked to the shuttlebay. Apart from trying to draw the boy out of a catatonic state, he had a shipload of Vulcan children who might need psychological intervention and he wouldn't be there if anything happened. And Commander Tucker, their only meditation guide, would also be away. There had been no further violent incident since Tevoc, only minor skirmishes that didn't draw blood, but that was no predicator of the future. The MACOs were there to handle things until they got back, but still. If it were not for the Hippocratic Oath requiring he help the wounded on the Vulcan ships, Phlox would have been tempted to beg off this particular trip.

Upon seeing a shellshocked Trip waiting in the shuttlebay, he realized that his concerns were minor in relation to what Trip must be going through. At least, he did not have to deal with the finality of death. Or worse, the uncertainty of its finality. Phlox was genuinely sorry for the young man, sensing his turmoil.

He walked up to him "There was nothing you could have done," he gently said "sometimes things just cannot be fixed."

Trip looked at him without looking, his eyes fixed on a point over his shoulder. "She's not dead." He stepped away and climbed aboard the shuttlepod.

Phlox sighed. This was not going to be easy.


	5. Negotiations

CHAPTER V - NEGOTIATIONS

The sound of someone screaming woke her up. It took another few seconds before she realized she was the one screaming. She gulped big mouthfuls of air which were instantly yanked from her by the raking of agonizing torture. Her arm was on fire, yellow flames devouring it from the inside, running under her skin in flesh-consuming twirls. Through the green haze obscuring her vision she saw shapes that she remembered having known, but who and when and where were consumed by the flames that were eating her alive. She was tossing incoherently back and forth, trying to escape the pain, unaware of her surroundings, when she felt something grab her head and hold it still.

"She's coming to" Sverig exclaimed.

"Quick, grab her head" someone replied "before she becomes fully conscious." An older Vulcan came to where he was. "Let me help, I am a melder. I will attempt and put blocks in your mind." The older Vulcan knelt next to T'Pol, positioning his fingers on her psionic point. He looked up at Sverig "You have to keep her head still, but she needs to remain conscious." A nerve pinch would be the fastest way to stop the atrocious pain, but then he would not be able to find the neural paths. Photonic wounds were by far the most painful, the chemical burn lasting long after the actual injury and inflicting commensurate damage. She would be lucky if she kept the arm. The elder's face twisted in pain as he finally made contact with her mind.

Big clouds of rain came over the horizon, drenching the fire that was enveloping her. The agony lessened infinitesimally. The clouds kept forming and releasing cooling water over her and the pain lessened with each wave. Soon the fire died down, then went out completely, tendrils of smoke marking its impact from wrist to elbow. She found that she could breathe again. She felt another presence in her, but it was not Trip. All of a sudden she remembered the group of hostages across the desolate landscape, the glare of the photonic bomb, the strange weightlessness of being hit, and Trip running to her.

She opened her eyes and stared straight into the grey eyes of an older Vulcan who had his hand on her psionic points. Sverig was hovering by her side, looking at both of them. The older Vulcan's eyes smiled when he saw she was coming to. "I helped put building blocks against the pain," he explained "but it is temporary. The damage to your arm needs to be seen to. You need medical attention." She nodded weakly, and the older man moved away. She gingerly tested the blocks, but they were holding strong.

She stared at Sverig, then looked around the room, trying not to look at her arm. It was not the storage chamber they had first been held in, there was still a forcefield but none of the twenty or so Vulcans in there were bound or gagged. She recognized some agents, the others were hostages. She made an attempt to sit up and Sverig cautiously helped raise her the rest of the way, carefully moving her back to the wall so she could lean against it. She raised an eyebrow at him. There was obviously much that needed to be shared.

"We are in the operations complex" he explained "on the first floor. There are about as many of us on the second floor. The Andorians are now afraid of us. Putting restraints on us would have required touching us and they fear we all are walking organic explosives."

"How many got out?"

"There are only forty-three hostages left. All the others are on their way back to the ships." _And to Vulcan_ , she thought but didn't voice.

"And the agents?"

"We're all here, except for T'Mara and Tulket who left with the shuttles. Thirteen have died, and of course Stevalk. You're the only one wounded." She knew he meant she was the only one who had been wounded and was still alive. Stevalk was the source of the explosion that started the attack. She frowned as something dawned on her. "You were on the team with Tulket, why didn't you leave?"

He looked down and to the side "When we saw the photonic bomb hit we thought you were dead. But when Tulket and I ran our group to the shuttle I saw you were still alive. I came back to get you."

So he was the one she has mistaken for Trip. The fact that it made sense might be due to her injured state. Sverig, like Trip, was drawn to her. Even if she was drawn to only one of them.

"You put your life in jeopardy on my account" she commented softly.

"There was no logic in doing otherwise." Sverig answered. T'Pol knew very well how to twist logic in support of emotional decisions. She changed the topic "What about a follow-up action?"

He looked downward. "Any further action will have to come from the Sahriv. The guards at the door are the only Andorians we've seen since the battle." There was a dry note of amusement in his voice. "There's always four of them, a team of two and a back-up. They're relieved every two hours." The terrorists were taking many more precautions than warranted, in an overestimation of what the remaining hostages could do. When actually all they could do was wait. This time there was no master plan to put into action, they didn't even know what they were waiting for.

Pain was still shooting up her arm in pangs that made her breath catch in spite of the neural blocks. She had avoided looking at the arm, worried to see the inhumane pain expressed in physical form. The sight was not as bad as she had expected and yet it was a lot worse. She carefully looked away from the carbonized patches that could be thermal suit or skin, she was not keen to find out. Sverig followed her gaze. "Actually, your chances of surviving beyond a few days are quite low." T'Pol nodded, she was well aware how infection set in untreated photonic wounds.

To keep her mind off the pain, she started mentally reviewing the alternatives that the terrorists might be considering. They would have to adapt their objectives. The shooting range had been destroyed and fear of another explosion would prevent them from killing the hostages. Logically, their next move would be to try and extract their freedom, possibly money. They would demand small ships that were nimble and easy to hide. Caution would require they take hostages with them, but those ships could not hold that many. The rest of the hostages would be released or killed. Probabilities were they would be killed. Once the terrorists were clear of the complex, because of their fear of an explosion. There were not many alternatives. A transporter evasion was not possible. Even if the sensors could penetrate the complex, which the ones on Enterprise couldn't, they wouldn't know their precise elevation. Vulcan command could not mount another attack, the Andorians would kill everyone at the first sign of an invasion. There were too many unkowns leaning on their fate.

Unless the Vulcans, the Federation and the Andorians came up with a plan.

xXx

Rel was having a hard time coming up with a plan. Kalias and Pashat were with him, going over their options. They had lost so much negotiating ground. Rel was still trying to find ways he could keep the Vulcans' and the Federation's feet to the fire, make them twist and turn under his thumb. But what could they do with fifty hostages? Kalias respected him too much to point out the fallacy in his thinking.

It was Pashat who eventually couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Leader, why don't we just ask for ships in exchange for the hostages?"

Rel eyed him coldly. "And leave?! When we came to Sterth Vega III, it was to die in our mission."

"We were ready to die and we still are, but the mission is no longer what it was. If we die, our lifework ends with us. If we survive, we can regroup for another mission." He paused. "And now the Empress knows we exist, you have official recognition. She'll be more willing to listen next time." Kalias had to give it to the kid. He may be young, but he was savvy in ways that eluded her.

There was a minute hesitation from Rel that informed Pashat he had guessed right. Life was not a path to their Leader's heart, but power was.

Rel turned to Kalias "How's the communication system?"

Her antennae twisted in shame "I'm afraid the explosion permanently damaged the system. Most of the wires are fused together and we don't have the supplies to repair them." Pashat nodded in companionable misery. There was no point mentioning the supplies room had blown up in the explosion.

Rel got up, kicked his stool away from him, started pacing back and forth across the room. "So we have almost no hostages left, no communication system. You tell me to beg for ships and leave!" he bellowed at Pashat "But I can't even beg, can I, if I can't reach anyone?!" He was angrier than they had ever seen him. Pashat swallowed nervously, wondering if perhaps he was at risk.

Rel seemed to regain control, bringing his hands together over his face and taking in a deep breath as he slowly brought them down to his chin. "Let's start again", he told his companions, who had no wish to start again. "What do we have?" As silence lingered in light of his rhetorical question, he set the ball rolling himself. "We have arms and we have hostages. That is what we have. And we have an ideology and a name. Now, how can we mix this all together so that we become more than a passing mention in a history book, I ask you? How?" He looked at them "By having a disproportionate impact to our size, that is how! And how do we achieve this?"

Kalias and Pashat stayed wisely silent. They already had achieved a disproportionate impact for their size, and that had not been enough. Finally Pashat had an idea "If we take the arms with us, we'll become one of the best armed rebel groups."

Rel grinned, nodding his encouragement. This one had promise. "So we keep the arms." He paced briefly around the room "You're right, we need to stay alive and keep the fight going. For that we need ships. We can exchange some of the hostages for ships. Not all of them. Some of them only. They are our wealth and our coinage. And we spend our money wisely." Kalias was too pragmatic not to wonder whether killing one hostage a day as they had done before could be considered spending their money wisely.

Rel's eyes were shining, his antennae afloat. "And with money, we can get a communication system."

"Uh" Kalias was no longer following. Rel seemed to answer her thoughts. "If they want to save the hostages, they have to talk to us. If they want to talk to us, we have to have a communication system. Simple." He seemed to be listening to himself. "Not from the Vulcans, no. We want a communication system from Andoria. Something we know from people we trust. Same with the ships. Andorian ships." He was lost in his own world, antennae quivering with anticipation.

"Leader!" Kalias tried again. "But -" Rel was no longer listening to her, if he had ever been. Pashat stepped in, noticing Kalias' efforts at being heard. "Leader, why would Andoria give us ships? We are not holding Andorian hostages."

Rel eyed him with a mean stare then seemed to understand. "Ah, yes. That could be an issue." Andoria and Vulcan would not want the reciprocal ties that could be created if one helped the other. If Andoria refused to help and he killed the hostages, it would be just another dent in long-dented Vulcan-Andoria relations. Nothing that time wouldn't heal. Which meant he wouldn't get his ships. Rel started pacing again. "I don't want Vulcan ships, I don't want anything from Vulcan." Unspoken was the thought that whatever Vulcan provided might very well blow up in their faces. Kalias and Pashat were in unspoken agreement.

"There's also the Federation" Kalias hazarded.

Rel snorted. "The Federation! They have no ships."

"Starfleet does." Pashat pointed out

"And Starfleet will just hand over enough ships for all of us plus the arsenal? It's the same as Andoria. Not unless they're directly involved." Silence fell again.

Suddenly, Pashat's eyes widened. "Perhaps they are." He looked at an uncomprehending Kalias "I was overseeing security when we did the transfer of the children. There was this one hostage… I wondered why they treated her differently. I didn't think of it at the time but she may be connected to the Federation!"

Rel and Kalias turned to him with a gleam in their eyes.

xXx

"Everyone freeze!" a squadron of terrorists burst in, arms at the ready, kicking the legs of the hostages nearer them before jumping out of reach. It was obvious that it would take only the slightest unanticipated move to trigger an array of bullets from the hyper-anxious Andorians. The Vulcans didn't budge, careful of the Andorians' every blink. Three of the terrorists stepped further in the room and started going from hostage to hostage, looking closely at them. When they got to T'Pol, one of the Andorians looked at her more intensely, then at the other two. "That one!" he exclaimed. Other terrorists rushed in to bring her upright, mindless of her scream of pain as they roughly brought her to her feet before dragging her out of the room by her good arm, doubled over in pain.

The guards manhandling her stopped in front of a wide double door. Based on the schematics of the complex that every operative had memorized and fully integrated, T'Pol knew that was the main entrance to the complex. She was taking deep breaths, trying to retain control. Since it could not be that they were releasing her, she wondered what manner of execution they had set up outside. It would be logical that they would kill her away from the complex, far enough that there would be no damage from a possible explosion. As she was obviously wounded, her value as a hostage was best expressed in some shocking demonstration, leaving the healthy hostages as a better currency for negotiations. She was relieved that she had suppressed the bond with Trip, he wouldn't be witness to any of it.

Two of the Andorians grabbed the back of her thermal suit while a third looped a flexible cable around her neck, pulling hard and half-choking her. More terrorists joined them, one of them an Andorian woman. The man nodded at the one holding the end of the cable. "We are ready, Leader" Pashat answered. The one they called leader walked to the door, mentioned to the woman to open it slightly, and waited for a couple of minutes.

xXx

Archer looked at Captain Soljark and Sub-Commander Proie, noting the crutches that held Soljark up and the abrasions on the man's face. Beside him, he heard Phlox's sharp intake of breath, knew there was something he was not seeing. But it would be somewhat awkward to interrupt the introductions to ask Phlox.

"Captain, Commander, Lieutenant" Soljark welcomed them in turn. "Doctor, if you would accompany Sub-Commander Sproie to our sickbay, I believe your presence there is anticipated." Archer almost snorted. They wouldn't need Phlox if they had had enough healers to start with. But cynicism was best kept to oneself.

"Of course, of course" Phlox was in full-Phlox mode, excited to visit another species' medical center and looking forward to all the wonderful new idiosyncrasies he was certain to uncover.

"Doctor-" Before Sproie could say another word, a Vulcan officer came running to the airlock. The sight of a Vulcan running with pressing news was unexpected enough that it muzzled any thought Archer might have had. He could only stare agape at the scene.

"Captain. The sensors. We're picking up movement at the complex!"

It was a calvacade of Vulcan and Starfleet officers that took off at a run for the bridge of the Sahriv, damn propriety and damn convention, one Vulcan captain lopping in great strides on his crutches and a slightly rotund and out of shape Denobulan doctor keeping pace as well as he could.

"We have focused all sensors on the front of the building, Captain" The communications officer's voice rang on the quiet bridge. Soljark seated himself in the captain's chair, the four Starfleet officers standing in a small group by his side. Nobody moved yet there was a flurry of activity as brows tightened, eyes focused, bodies moved by the slimmest margin. Almost everyone had a similar mask of bruises on their face. Archer heard the soft whisper of Phlox by his side, almost too soft to be heard "Burns". His eyes widened as the pieces slowly came together. These people had been among the paratroopers. His esteem of Soljark and his crew went up a notch.

On the screen, they could see the walls of the facility complex scorched by phaser fire, the gutted roof in the back marking the location of the shooting range, now unusable. The door to the complex had been pushed ajar. Everyone tensed. Soljark looked at Archer then back at the screen. Archer wondered if he was going to ask them to leave but it seemed Soljark had decided Starfleet's presence on the bridge was acceptable. "Audio through," he told the communications officer.

At first there was only a muted silence, then the sibilant voice of the leader of the terrorists came through a barrage of static. Trip noted with interest the feedback energy from their sensors. The leader's voice was picked up directly by the sensors, a normal speaking voice, faint against the background of ambient noises. The entire bridge crew leaned ever so slightly forward and Phlox wondered if Vulcan's hearing acuity made it harder to decipher words in a cloud of static.

"We are coming out with one of the hostages. Do not shoot." In response, the communications specialist manipulated the sensor feed until the entrance doors of the complex occupied most of the screen. They could see the four broad steps leading to it with the ramp on the side.

xXx

Rel waited for a few heartbeats, then repeated clearly and slowly through the door opening "We are coming out with one of the hostages. Do not shoot." He said the sentence a couple more times, making certain that the sensors pointing at the complex could finish relaying the information to the ships that he knew to be in orbit.

Another thirty seconds later he motioned to Kalias. She opened the door wide and the terrorists holding her thrust T'Pol through the opening, keeping her close enough that they could remain hidden behind her. Her arm brushed the doorframe as they roughly pushed her, and the pain took her breath away. She was trying to regain control and blink away the stars that had flooded her vision when Pashat yanked on the cable, choking her, whispering in an angry tone "Tell them exactly what we tell you!"

xXx

The double titanium doors opened wide and a hostage was thrust forward, enough blue skin and antennae visible in the back to let them know that three Andorians were keeping a tight grip on things.

A rush of static permeated Trip's head. He sensed more than he saw Phlox come up to him, but he couldn't speak. His brain was filled with cotton and his legs were threatening to fold and dump him unceremoniously on the bridge's deck. He was grateful for Phlox's steadying hand on his arm anchoring him to reality. He looked at the doctor and saw the shocked look in his eyes, saw it reverberated in Archer and Reed, accepted finally that he was not hallucinating, that this was not some kind of perverse set-up.

It was T'Pol.

She was alive.

He noted the charred uniform on her side but that was nothing compared to the discovery she was alive. Trip turned to look at Soljark's face, was rewarded to see the widening of the eyes that expressed shock and surprise also showing in the other crew members. He felt like saying something snarky about the accuracy of Vulcan's casualty count, reined it in and kept himself in check. His ebullient joy at seeing she was alive didn't change anything to the fact the situation was not good, not by any stretch of the imagination.

One of the Andorians seemed to be speaking to T'Pol, but she remained still. Finally, he tightened the strip of cable that had been looped around her neck, bringing her head up and back. He said something more to her and this time she started speaking "The Followers of Thoor-Ukh want to propose a trade" her voice was raw, half-choked by the cable, but the Andorian didn't relieve the pressure. He said a few more words to her and she continued "Free passage off the planet and ships in exchange for hostages." The terrorist released the tension on the cable and she took deep breaths. The Andorian started speaking again. When he saw she remained silent, he yanked the cable again, making her lean backward to relieve the pressure. He finally realized his hold was too tight, released it just enough to allow her to speak. "The Followers of Thoor-Ukh want an Andorian laser transmitter receiver system model Zaak-4530 or similar to be delivered within the next 24 hours. Otherwise they will kill this hostage."

One of the terrorists holding her pushed the door wide open and stepped around and in front of her, knowing full well that the ships in orbit would not dare do anything that could harm the hostage. He raised his ceremonial dagger in the air before bringing it right under her jaw. Trip's heart missed a beat. Smiling, the Andorian turned the dagger blade up and drew a line down her neck. Green blood spurted freely, falling down her thermal suit as the tip of the knife carved downward. The Andorian waved the knife at the sky before they quickly retreated back into the building, using her as a shield. The door closed.

Captain Soljark looked over at Sproie "Sub-Commander, update the casualty list."

xXx

The Andorians roughly pulled her back inside. One of the terrorists grabbed her and pushed her against the wall, pressing his body against hers, holding her good arm in a lock against the wall.

"Well, well, well" he purred "I don't know about you but I think there are more ways you could be helpful." He pushed himself further against her, his growing tumescence leaving no doubt as to his intents, and lasciviously passed a hand over her breasts.

In response, T'Pol ripped through the mental blocks that the older Vulcan had carefully put in place, releasing all control. A fireball of pain erupted up her arm in shrieking fury, ending in a wave of nausea that rippled from head to foot. The Andorian and the wall shrunk into distant images that she could see at the end of an opaque tunnel. The tunnel collapsed upon itself and the world turned dark.

xXx

"Captain, you have to do something!" An agitated Phlox was addressing his entreaties to Soljark. The Vulcan Captain looked soberly back at him. "What do you suggest we do, doctor?"

"I don't know… Offer them money, something, anything. I'll take her place if I have to."

Soljark shrugged. "I doubt that the Andorians will look positively upon a trade." He didn't have to add why.

Phlox turned to Archer "You have to make them do something!"

Archer shook his head ruefully "Even if I had that power, I'm not sure that there is much we can do."

Phlox grew more agitated. "You don't understand. That wound is going to become badly infected within the next few days. At best she'll lose the arm, but most likely she'll die!"

Archer noticed that the information was not news to Soljark. "The V'Shar operatives knew the danger of the mission" the Vulcan Captain sounded almost gentle.

Trip turned to the screen, unseeingly looking at the station below. He felt emotionally whiplashed, as if he had been given a great gift and now it was going to be taken back. He heard Captain Archer as if in the distance, talking to Soljark "We need to get Commander Kyres here right away. This is not the time to play politics anymore."

xXx

The nine representatives of Vulcan, the Federation, and Andoria were back in the conference room on the Sahriv, but Archer could tell that this time there was a difference. He could feel it in the tone of the Vulcans, which was less clipped than usual, though it would have taken a computer to calculate the minimal nth-of-a-beat difference in the cadence. Now they were all working as equals facing a common issue.

Commander Kyres had finished reviewing the tapes from the surface and he didn't say anything, letting the silence stretch over into discomfort. Archer waited easily, busy with his own thoughts. Among which the fact he had yet to alert the admiralty. He would do it when he was safely back on Enterprise, he couldn't have this type of confidential conversation while aboard an alien vessel. Perhaps. As far as he was concerned, things were simple. One of his officers was being held hostage, the demands were reasonable and easily achievable, and he was the captain. The Federation politicos could twist themselves into pretzels trying to figure out if T'Pol was Starfleet or V'Shar, all he cared about was that she was one of his. And he may have a trump card about the V'Shar thing anyway. But that would come later, when the time was right.

One of Kyre's aides broke the heavy silence. "The laser transmitter receiver Zaak-4350 is a very specific model, not something that we commonly have in our supplies room," he started.

"We could replicate one" Trip interrupted. Archer suppressed a small frown of annoyance. They all understood not to expect any neutral analysis from the engineer, but he would have to be careful that Trip didn't interrupt the normal back and fro of the decision process.

The Andorian hesitated "It's not as simple as it seems." He looked at Commander Kyres for direction and stopped speaking.

Kyres took a deep breath, stared fixedly at the table of the conference room as he spoke. "The Zaak-4530 has certain specific characteristics that I am not at liberty to discuss here, which makes its replication on an alien vessel simply impossible."

The silence of espionage fell on the room. Trip had learned enough about Vulcans through T'Pol that he could read in a certain fixedness in Soljark's and Sproie's gazes that had they been Human they would have exploded with anger. Everyone around the table knew only too well to what end the Andorians kept ever refining their advanced espionage technology, and the Vulcans were quite justified in being angry at the implied transgression. Archer's eyes narrowed as the thought inescapably dawned on him that the Andorians' eavesdropping propensities did not neatly end at Vulcan's door.

Trip suddenly thought of a way he could smooth over ruffled feathers and keep working towards what he really wanted, deliver the damn transmitter system to the terrorists and make sure T'Pol stayed safe. "Perhaps these, uh, characteristics can be adapted so that we can find out what's going on inside the complex?"

The raised antennae and pointed ears around the room let him know he had a winner.

Kyres looked up "We could retrofit one of our current systems to double up as a directional sensor..." Trip nodded eagerly. That was right up his alley.

The Vulcans were all ears.

xXx

T'Pol came to with a gasp, feeling the edges of the pain starting to recede, taking note that she was laying on the ground back in the hostage room. A voice was whispering in her ear "Follow my lead to where there is no pain" and she became aware of Hanik's, the older Vulcan's, hand pressing on her psionic points. Once the pain was less severe, she helped him reset the neural blocks until the agony of the photonic burns was once again locked securely behind rigid walls. The effort was exhausting for both of them. Hanik withdrew his hand gingerly, making sure the controls held. She tried to remember what had happened, looked up at him in unspoken question.

"The blocks get harder to reset each time. Your reasons for laying waste to my handiwork were logical, though regrettable as I was rather pleased with what I had been able to achieve." Hanik gently commented. "Though throwing up may have been an overkill," he wryly added, letting her know with a cocked eyebrow that it was said in jest.

"Regrettable indeed, but it could not be avoided" T'Pol replied in kind. She couldn't see her thermal suit from where she was laying down but she remembered the nausea that had gripped her as she lost consciousness. She was surprised that she felt no sense of embarrassment in front of Sverig, who had been listening intently. Hanik was a melder, which meant that he served as a healer for outposts too remote for a permanent medical staff or whenever the need arose, and it would have been illogical to feel embarrassed in front of him.

"What happened?" Sverig asked. The other V'Shar agents were paying attention through ambient focus, lest their too visible interest alert the guards that something worthy of note was taking place in the containment room. The information would be repeated sub voce to the hostages, the ones able to hear it. It would be shared with the V'Shar agents in the other room through the shallow mission link, or as much of it as could be imprinted through the link.

T'Pol quickly caught Sverig up on the terrorists' demands. "Do you think they will deliver the transmitter system?" He asked.

"How long have I been unconscious?" T'Pol replied.

"They brought you back three point two hours ago."

"I expect we will know in another twenty hours or so," she wryly commented.

“And your neck?”

She remembered the Andorian and his knife, started raising her hand to the cut, but the effort was too much. She let her hand fall back. “A message from the terrorists.”

Sverig nodded. He had surmised as much. "Do you want to sit up?"

"No, I would rather stay where I am" T'Pol replied, closing her eyes. Sitting up would only bring more pain.

xXx

"Leader, Leader, something materialized outside!" the Follower ran into the room. Kalias and Pashat jumped to their feet "We're on it" and ran as one out the door. They came back twenty minutes later. "Leader!" Kalias was ecstatic. "They've sent the Zaak we requested, one of the newer models!"

Real nodded absentmindedly. This had taken much less time than he had anticipated. Which told him that the Federation and Starfleet could and would do a lot to keep that certain hostage alive. The same way his rough treatment of her had been unnecessary and gratuitous, purely intended to keep tensions high, he would wait before he'd acknowledge receiving the transmitter and let them worry that perhaps he had killed her. They would be much more inclined to give him what he wanted when they realized he had not.

"Do you want to contact them?" Kalias asked "It will take almost no time to check all the parameters on the system."

"Not yet" Rel responded.

"When?" Pashat asked, then quickly added "Leader", realizing the offense of his ways. Kalias frowned with anger - how could he be so disrespectful. "I apologize, Leader" Pashat added "but the Starfleet hostage is wounded, I don't know how much time we have." After the hostage had collapsed in the corridor, Rel had threatened the offending Andorian with his life for jeopardizing their most valuable asset before having a couple of Followers drag her back to the containment room. The care with which the others cushioned her fall when they dropped her to the ground had led Pashat to think perhaps her wounds were worse than they seemed. And they seemed pretty bad already.

Rel stared at him silently for several seconds. The youth was dangerous, in ways Oryl had never been. He would have to get rid of him at the slightest opportunity, as soon as they reached safety. He would take full advantage of his insights in the meantime, but he would have to be careful.

"In a few hours" he responded, then to hide the fact he had accommodated him, turned to Kalias "How long before the system is working?"

She inclined her antennae "In about an hour, Leader. I will check every component for conformity and make sure everything is as it should be."

Rel nodded "Good. Let me know when everything is ready."

xXx

Sverig watched the rise and fall of T'Pol's chest. He knew she was not sleeping, the intermittent twitching in her shoulder would not stop and it must be taking all her energy to block the residual pain. When she opened her eyes again, the deep violet lines underlining them belied her physical exhaustion. Sverig noted that her respiration rate had increased by zero point three seconds. The infection had started. They only had days before she died.

He realized her eyes were resting on him "How long?" She asked

"Over twenty-two hours" he replied "and still no sign of the terrorists. I think they may have their communication system."

T'Pol nodded and drifted off again.

xXx

Once the Andorians had agreed to modify the Zaak system, the task force had relocated to the Andorian ship, the Khun Rip. A couple of new Vulcan members had joined them, including a certain Captain T'Kullyl, a fairly unprepossessing female of indeterminate age who also showed signs of having been one of the paratroopers. Archer got a sense she was someone who deserved to have an eye kept on her at all times.

But there was nothing for him to do until the Andorians had prepared and delivered the Zaak 4350, and perhaps even after, and he shuttled back to Enterprise, alone, to take care of regular ship business, and, lastly and grudgingly, contact the admiralty.

Archer's first stop on the way to the bridge was Sickbay. He needed to alert the medical team that their favorite doctor had remained behind on the Sahriv. If he was still on the Sahriv. Archer had a feeling there was much that was happening behind the scenes on the Vulcan ship but he trusted that the doctor would reemerge whenever the situation permitted. As superciliously annoying as Vulcans were and underhanded as the old regime had been, he had to admit that T'Pau was conducting herself and her planet with a new level of ethics. In the meantime, and while being quite unaware of the inherent irony in his own conduct, he had left his intelligence officer and his chief technical officer behind to officially help the Andorians to the extent they could and unofficially garner as much intelligence as possible about the true extent of their technical prowess.

As soon as the Sickbay doors opened, Porthos came at a run, thrilled to see his master. Crewman Martinova was right behind, trying to get a hand on what she thought was a fleeing beagle, until she saw the Captain and stopped uncertainly.

"Ah, uh, Captain Archer -" she started, trying to explain.

"As you were, Crewman" Archer cut her off, it was too obvious what had happened. He briskly rubbed his pet's ears as a sign of affection, then looked up at the crewman again "How are things going?"

She broke into a wide smile "They're going very well, sir. At first we weren't sure but now it is clear the boy looks at Porthos." She was beaming "Once in a while," she hastened to add "It's not like, poof, the dog is here and everything is fine. But it's a start. We're hopeful with time it will keep drawing him out. Now he's reacting every time he sees Porthos! Come and see." And Crewman Martinova ebulliently pulled Archer further into Sickbay as she talked. Porthos happily followed along.

Archer could see that the dog's couch had been moved to a new location. Martinova noticed his notice and explained "His couch is easily visible from the biobed." The boy was still in the same position, eyes wide open and unblinking. As Porthos settled on his couch and in Sypiv's line of sight, Archer clearly saw him blink then glance at the dog. Martinova looked at Archer with the biggest grin. Archer wisely refrained from pointing out this seemed to be a muted response indeed. He was not a doctor and not a reliable judge. She remained unaware of his reserve "See! We're thinking about trying a physical contact next - with your permission of course. We finished checking the databases and it doesn't look like it would be an issue. Because Vulcans are touch telepaths, you know." Archer nodded, thinking of all the times he had noticed T'Pol not touching Porthos. He actually didn't think she had ever touched him.[1] He hadn't thought about it at the time but if he were a touch telepath, he wasn't sure how much he would want to share what his dog was thinking. Unless Porthos was blissfully happy or profoundly sad, at the exclusion of any other feeling.

In the meantime, he had to disengage from the enthusiastic crewman. "I am needed on the bridge" he told her "I'll be happy to leave Porthos in Sickbay until I come back. Porthos will be fine, won't you, Porthos?" the beagle licked his hand in what Archer, not being a touch telepath, decided to be a gesture of assent. Not being psionically sensitive sometimes had its advantages.

xXx

Reed was quietly watching Trip come apart. Or at least making a damn good impersonation of it. Archer had left them behind over to help the Andorians to the extent they could. Which really meant to the extent they were allowed to. And they were not allowed to do much, except watch from a distance while the Andorians had all the fun. Reed could feel Trip's fingers itching to participate as they both took in as much as they could while trying to appear nonchalant about it, the Andorians knowing full well that behind the generous offer of help was a strategic bid to learn as much as they could about their spying technology. It was a fair game and they were all playing their part. The Federation and Starfleet would have looked like helpless chumps if they didn't at least try. Sometimes, part of the art of war was simply to let the enemy know one was aware.

The Vulcans too were present, which made Reed's task ever so complicated. Because he had to try and spy on the Andorians while making sure the Vulcans were not getting more intel than he was, the Vulcans doing the same with Starfleet, and the Andorians keeping a firm antenna on both of them.

He sighed and looked around the room again, which he had renamed the war room, and where he and Trip had been holed up for almost a full day, only allowed to watch on the main screen the preparations for the very special model 4350 for the terrorists, and then its delivery. He estimated it had been a day at least based on the growth of the stubble now adorning his friend's face. He and Trip were the only ones showing the passage of time on their faces, it seemed the Vulcans as well as the Andorians were impervious to regular follicular growth. Unless it simply took longer for them.

Trip kept looking at the incoming call icon that would glow blue when the terrorists on the planet made contact through the Zaak 4350, but it would not start flashing. He started counting to five hundred, pretty certain that when he came to five hundred, the icon would finally flash. It didn't. Trip looked at the planet visible through the main window, the geostationary dark shape of Sterth Vega III a bleep on its surface. Come on, what was taking so long. They had beamed the unit down, all the terrorists had to do was open the box, check it out, look for potential spy sensor arrays which they would never find, Trip had seen how the Andorians had simply used the existing circuitry and backed up antenna filaments through it, not outside it, and then flip a button and they would be in touch with the ship in orbit. Their own ship, the Andorian one.

But his mute inquiries remained unheard and the icon remained inert. Which made him worry that perhaps they were not going to keep their part of the deal. Or that perhaps they could not figure out how to work the equipment and think they had been sent a defective system. Or that something had gone awry when the system was beamed down and now it malfunctioned. Or that the terrorists had split into enemy factions and a fierce battle was being waged in the corridors of the complex and the faction that won would be the one that didn't want to negotiate. Trip almost jumped out of his skin when Reed's hand came to rest on his arm, interrupting his frantic daydreams.

"Easy, buddy, easy." Reed had noticed a glassy look come over the engineer's face as his fantasies took hold of him. "You were the one who knew T'Pol wasn't dead, remember? You'd know if anything had happened."

Trip looked at his friend imploringly. Be it that he was right. He would feel it if T'Pol was dead, wouldn't it? He wasn't so sure anymore. His throat constricted. He so much wanted it to be so that he no longer knew if he felt her because he wanted to or because he did feel a sense of connection. All he had was a hope and belief he would.

Reed glanced at his friend from the corner of his eye, feeling his pain and distress, and feeling sorry for him.

They both turned to look at the resolutely unflashing icon.

xXx

"We had no choice but to provide the communication system, your Highness" Commander Kyres projected the right amount of contrition, hoping to defuse any harder-to-answer questions about the choices he had not made. He was certain the Federation and the Vulcans had not been able to see enough about the modifications done to the system to even start guessing as to its eavesdropping capabilities. A little bit but not much. And as for the fact that they now knew for certain there were eavesdropping capabilities, well, they would have discovered that at some point anyway. He had only speeded things along a little bit.

The Empress hid her displeasure at the news, but rather than direct her dissatisfaction at Kyres, she was angry at Rel and the Followers who had precipitated this whole course of action. She turned to Okassehr, who looked at her with a half-bent antenna "Spy secrets are the most fleeting of all" he philosophically stated. "There will be another better Zaak, that you can be certain of."

The Empress turned back to Kyres "What are the terrorists doing now?"

"Nothing, Your Highness" the Andorian commander held himself ramrod straight. "There has been no communication from the surface since we delivered the Zaak. We are unsure why, we believe they have the technical skills to operate the equipment."

"Perhaps they are fighting among themselves." Okassehr hopefully interrupted.

Kyres nodded firmly "Perhaps, though I fear their leader, Rel, has complete and total control over the Followers. Based on his actions so far, I would tend to believe he is playing with us."

xXx

His conversation with Admiral Wetjelk had been interesting, in a Confucian kind of way. She had not exactly seen eye-to-eye with his claim that he was sole master on board when it came to the Sterth Vega III situation, even for a matter as intuitive and vital as a communication system in exchange for T'Pol's life.

She had gone back, as he had feared, to the smallish matter that T'Pol was technically not Starfleet and technically the entire incident was outside the purview of the Federation.

At which point he had declared himself quite willing and ready to explain to Vulcan that the Federation did not feel it had any obligation to negotiate for the release of the one Vulcan hostage that was a Starfleet officer. Because she was not. And, oh yes, that was of course because she had agreed to help Vulcan with the hostage situation.

Admiral Wetjelk was hardly pleased with Archer for laying the whole mess at her doorstep.

Be it as it may, he was not in this to curry favors with the admiralty but to get the support he needed for the negotiations, and he was pretty sure he would get it as soon as Starfleet tried to explain its position to T'Pau.

Which he knew they would never dare to do, expressing only their full and ongoing support no matter what happened.

xXx

T'Pol opened her eyes and looked right into Sverig's eyes. She felt a passing sense of vertigo, of falling into the translucent irises. Then she noticed that he was scowling.

She raised an eyebrow at him "What is wrong?"

"Your arm is infected" he told her. She looked down at her arm, marveling at the colors developing in a sea of black. And realized she was close to delirious with fever.

She looked back at Sverig. She wanted to let him know this was inconvenient but she wasn't sure why exactly it was inconvenient. The room they were in was shimmering in and out of focus until she realized it was in rhythm with her breathing. She needed to keep her head steady when she breathed or the room would disappear. Again, a rational part of her mind noted that it was the fever.

Sverig wasn't saying a word, somber at her side.

"Am I going to die?" she asked him. There was something finite and reassuring in the thought death was at hand.

He shook his head "We should be rescued well before that."

She was staring at him as she slowly let sleep overtake her again. She was staring at him and thinking of Trip and little by little he took on the features of Trip, though the pointed ears stayed. She liked the ears. Her last thought before falling asleep was that she would be safe because Trip was there. She was always safe when he was around, he saw to that.

xXx

Archer had left Hoshi in charge, confident that she had the chops for the job and would keep Enterprise whole while he was away, and he was shuttling back to the Khun Rip, bringing a couple of engineering and science crewmen back with him as support for Trip and Reed. The data feed being surreptitiously extracted from the operations complex would start streaming back to the Andorian vessel as soon as the system was activated by the terrorists reaching out to the Federation. And they would need more hands for its interpretation.

He was walking out of the airlock when the call came over the ship's speakers. "All task force members to the war room. All task force members to the war room. The terrorists have made contact. I repeat, the terrorists have made contact." Archer swore and hot-footed it all the way to the war room, the technicians following on his heels.

He entered just as the sound of Rel's voice came over the speakers. Kyres turned and nodded at him, and they all leaned in to listen to the audio.

 

[1] Just a reminder that Archer was not in Sickbay when he was believed dead and T'Pol petted Porthos.

xXx

Unbeknownst to Rel and the Followers, the moment the Zaak 4350 was activated the electronic worm that was safely stored in the antenna filaments that had been carefully threaded through the circuits of the transmitter system came to life, unfolding its segments, first to open a back door into the Zaak and install the rootcode that would hide it, then to replicate itself along the power lines that fed the transmitter, recording its electronic route at the molecular level and transmitting it in packets piggy-backed to the audio transmission while its neural subroutine installed a sophisticated heat-sensing web along its path. It was a slow process, the worm copying itself over and over in slithering bytes, inch by inch, unable to draw more power than what could be hidden from the monitoring personnel by the rootkit module, the organic listening antenna being built as it went. There were miles of electronic circuit throughout the complex and the armory that needed to be invaded and recorded.

As the eavesdropping packets spread through the circuitry, the data they sent back streamed on the largest screen of the war room, undecipherable strings of Andorian numbers and letters that came through at high speed. The Andorian operators, half of them seated and half of them standing, were following with avid interest the incomprehensible character soup. Suddenly the screen went black, the Andorian operatives who were monitoring the feed showing no signs of alarm and the Starfleet and the Vulcan officers in the room showing subtle signs of distress.

The ribbons of data were replaced by an image, a two-dimensional picture of green lines over a black background in what seemed to be the faint outline of a rectangle. Minute by minute, the image kept solidifying in additional layers of details, unfolding to reveal a three-dimensional room with small bursts of color that little by little acquired definition and turned into CPUs and screens and equipment of various sizes. They were in the operations room, where the Zaak 4350 would have been set up. It would take another hour or so before the room was entirely heat-visible, several more hours to have a full view of the complex, including the relative positioning of the heat sources inside it. A scale appeared on the screen. One of the Andorian operatives nodded, switched the audio off in the room, and whispered to the assembly "This is in the immediate environment of the system. As the sensors get more data, the image will keep expanding. There are two Andorians with the leader, and they are all on the second floor, about 23 _zhiks_ in and 12 _zhiks_ high." He flipped the audio on again.

In the conference room, the representatives around the table were quiet, listening as the voice of Rel explained what he wanted to see happen. Soljark was impassive, Archer was scowling, and Kyres' antennae were bent out of shape.


	6. Fight or Flight

CHAPTER VI – FIGHT OR FLIGHT

"How are we going to do this?" Archer asked. "They don't want the Vulcan ships to be involved" he threw a meaningful glance at Soljark, who didn't react. Not that he had expected him to react. The terrorists had specifically requested that all the remaining Vulcan ships leave the quadrant at warp seven, but that was not the focus of Archer's current quandary. "We don't have time to get a large enough ship, or two, for that matter."

Kyres nodded.

Rel had given the Federation two days to deliver the escape vessels before the hostages were killed. The issue was that only transplanetary-class ships could hold all eighty terrorists and however many hostages and that was assuming the terrorists could stand in for the crew. But it was not like there were extra Surak-class or -size vessels idling around waiting to be called on to take a bunch of criminals to safety. The next option was to provide two of the next class of ships.

The actual demand from the terrorists had been for the vessels that they had used to come to Sterth Vega but those were all more than two days away, having served to take the residents of Sterth Vega III to Andoria or their home planet. And, even assuming there were ships available close by, one didn't just pop up unannounced and grab a ship. There was also the small matter of the people that would already be on board, forget about the cargo, any proprietary or classified equipment, emptying the ship, the negotiations that needed to take place before any of that could happen, and then bringing the ships to Sterth Vega III and the terrorists.

Not in two days. Not with the five Vulcan ships far away. The terrorists had just made their task impossible.

Archer was going on, thinking out loud "All we have on hand are a few shuttles."

"We have enough shuttles remaining for all of them" Soljark interrupted "though I doubt the terrorists will consider using Vulcan shuttles."

Archer snorted among the general chuckles, agreeing antennae, and impassive nods. The terrorists would spend the rest of their lives jumping every time they encountered anything Vulcan.

Trip took the relay "There are currently two diplomatic shuttles on Enterprise and two shuttlepods. The shuttlepods hold a maximum of six to eight, the diplomatic shuttles are configured for eight seats but those can be removed and replaced with benches. Then they could sit twenty to twenty-five. It would be a tight fit."

"That gives us 68 seats" Archer calculated out loud, waiting for Kyres to add to the conversation. After all, these were Andorian terrorists. He himself would have to go and beg the admiralty to provide the shuttles, and it would leave Enterprise singularly underequipped for whatever came up before they were able to replace them. Murphy's Law meant something would come up, a thought that filled him with worry.

Kyres looked sideways at his aides before talking. Andorian shuttles were reserved for armed commandos and he wasn't sure how much the Empress would be willing to expend for the sake of a few remaining Vulcan hostages. Still, there wasn't much of a choice. "The Khun Rip has with two mission shuttles," he started, ignoring the raised Vulcan eyebrows that underlined his choice of the word 'mission', "Each can carry a squad of twelve to thirteen. They are already set up for maximum occupancy."

"So that's 94 seats altogether" Archer concluded "That's plenty. Five shuttles should be enough."

"You forget," Kyres replied "that they will want to take hostages with them." Reed nodded in strong approval.

Archer sighed. "So six shuttles, then. In any case, there's no way we can do more."

“What if they insist on ships?” Trip interjected.

“Then it takes longer than two days.” Kyres replied.

“That would give us time to mount another rescue initiative.” T’Kullyl commented.

“A thought that won’t be wasted on Rel.” Archer brought everybody back to earth. “That’s why he set the limit at two days. He knows that’s all the time he has. And if the shuttles are the only thing he can get, he’ll deal.”

"I have to ask my government about giving our shuttles away" Kyres’ was the final word as he got up to leave with his command staff.

Archer mirrored his move "and I have to talk to the Federation." Only the Vulcans remained seated. There was nothing they could do at this time. And Archer already knew they would drag their heels until the last possible minute before leaving the quadrant. He would if he were them.

But Kyres was talking to him. "Please feel free to call your admiral from the Khun Rip, Captain. I give you my word as a Commander of the Imperial Guard that your conversation will not be listened to."

 _'That will be a change from Enterprise'_ the biting retort sprang right away to Archer's mind, but he kept himself from saying it out loud. After seeing the superiority of Andorian listening technology, he had no doubts remaining about the confidentiality of anything that he told the admiralty while Kyres and his ship were in proximity. He would bring his findings back to Starfleet, and they would have to devise a communication code to use whenever Andorians were near.

xXx

Rel, Pashat and Kalias were huddled in his quarters, far away from the blinking blue light of the Zaak 4350. They did not know enough to read anything nefarious in the never-ending blinking blue light that indicated the system was quietly alert. They had no idea that the sensor sub-routine had already replicated itself throughout the entire communications room and was slowly but surely spreading anywhere it could feed off an amp differential, including the wire that coursed inside one of the walls of Rel's quarters before going on to the top floor.

They did not know that never again would they have a confidential conversation within the complex, their every move and word being picked up by the organic antenna and fed back to the Khun Rip. Only the conversations they had before they started the negotiations would remain hidden from prying eyes and ears, and anything they would say where the worm had not spread yet.

"They're offering six shuttles" Rel repeated. It was not the glorious ships he saw himself commanding.

"Shuttles offer incomparable advantages in terms of maneuverability and hiding" Pashat replied. Rel nodded, but that was not quite up to the standard of what he had in mind.

"We won't be able to take the weapons" Kalias pointed out sadly. She had developed quite an affinity for the armory.

"We could take some weapons instead of hostages" Pashat hazarded.

Rel snorted "And how's that going to defend us from starships. No, the hostages are the only way we'll avoid being attacked before we reach safety."

"But there's no room for all the hostages" Kalias was nonplussed. If they couldn't take all the weapons and couldn't take all the hostages, then what?

"We don't need all the hostages" Rel replied. "We need the Starfleet one and as many as we can fit in the shuttles. We'll put them where we can."

"And the rest?" Pashat asked. They physically would not be able to take more than a handful of hostages on each shuttle. Counting those they would be giving up in exchange for the shuttles, how many would be left?

Rel's smile spread across his face, his antennae twisting with satisfaction. "I have an idea." He chuckled, obviously extremely pleased with where his thoughts were going. He looked over at Kalias "Come, let's go to the armory, I will explain along the way."

Even with the exponential growth of the listening worm, it would take another few hours before it spread to the armory. Nobody would be able to tell what would be discussed there. On the Khun Rip, the interpretation specialist pulled off his headphones in disgust. There was always a limit to what technology could achieve.

xXx

"I am not giving one ship away unless I get her back" Archer roared, slamming the table. Trip sat stone faced next to him in silent support. The Vulcans sat stone-faced on the other side of the conference table, having already voiced their opposition.

Rel had offered twelve hostages in exchange for the shuttles. Twelve hostages for a get-out-of-Sterth-Vega -III-free pass for eighty or so terrorists. Two for each shuttle. It was ridiculous. What was even more ridiculous was that the Vulcans would even consider it. Archer was not going to start putting prices on peoples' lives, but he believed that kind of pass should earn more than twelve hostages.

Except that the terrorists had a trump card up their sleeve in the form of a certain Starfleet officer who also happened to be a Vulcan citizen. All they had to say was that they would kill her if they didn't get the shuttles. Whereas his position was that if they wanted the ships, they had to release T'Pol. The ensuing harshly fought negotiations between the terrorists, the Vulcans and the Andorians, the Federation personnel were too hostile to the concept to even participate, had led to the number of twelve hostages. Even as they refused to free her. Which meant that from his perspective it was a loser's game. Somehow it seemed only the Federation representatives saw the inherent clarity and rightness of his position. And he was trying to influence the other members of the task force.

Soljark looked sideways at T'Kullyl then at Archer "Captain, I understand your position, but the final proposition is for twelve hostages except for T'Pol or any of the other V'Shar agents." Soljark paused. Archer noted that he had finally admitted to the fact that all the hostages exchanged for the children were V'Shar. It seemed the terrorists too had gotten wise to the fact there was something different about those hostages. "Otherwise, none of the hostages survives." Soljark went on. Archer had a sudden realization that he knew what was going to come next, looked incredulously at Soljark.

He wouldn't, would he?

But he did. "The good of the many-"

"Don't give me that!" Archer snapped. "Don't even go there!" He eyed the Vulcans with hatred. In great part because he knew the argument had already worked his way into his mind.

On the other side of the table, Soljark, Sproie and T'Kullyl eyed him impassively. The Human was more often than not illogical but he had shown his logic to be sound, when he used it. It was just a question of time.

xXx

"How are we doing, Hess?!" Trip called over from where his team was working furiously on the Enterprise shuttle, making the adjustments that the Andorian engineers had generously shared with him. Since they all assumed that Rel was going to call one of the Andorian shuttles as his own, special care had been taken in the preparation of those and Trip had been allowed to participate in the effort and learn hands-on what needed to be done.

Now he was applying his newly acquired knowledge, working against the clock in his mind. The terrorists had given them two days to deliver the shuttles, they had already wasted more hours than he wanted to count in deliberations and getting permission from the Empress and the Federation or Starfleet, it didn't matter which. With a private caveat to Archer to try and preserve the shuttles. They had slowly elaborated a plan through the wee hours of the morning. Now all he cared about was getting the ships ready before the time was over. Archer and Reed had stayed on the Khun Rip with the other members of the task force and it was up to Trip and his teams to try and make it happen.

The four teams working on the other shuttles were not complaining, glad to be collaborating in some practical way to the common rescue effort, aware of how much it all meant for Trip, worried about the impact on their commander and friend if something bad happened to T'Pol anyway.

"We're doing very well, sir!" Hess hollered back from where she was working with her own team, more slowly than Trip as she constantly had to cross-reference to what he was doing, but they would get there. She needed to be careful not to press her team so hard that they made mistakes. Nothing could go wrong with what they were carefully integrating into the shuttle's hull. "Piece of cake!" she happily added. Anything to make the chief engineer feel just a little bit better. She didn't need to. Trip felt better just being able to do something concrete to get T'Pol out of there.

xXx

"The shuttles can approach." Rel's sibilant voice sounded over the audio of the war room. Archer and Kyres reached out for their separate intercom. "Archer to Reed, ok to proceed." Kyres was giving the same order to the Andorian pilots.

On the screen, they watched as four shuttles left the shuttle bay of Enterprise and floated towards the Khun Rip. When they were a couple of thousand yards away, the Andorian shuttles flew out in turn. The six shuttles were soon joined by a Vulcan shuttle that had warped from where the Vulcan ships had retreated as per the terrorists demand, though they all knew it was no further than the edge of the quadrant. That shuttle would land the furthest from the complex, not so far that the hostages couldn't walk to it, but much further than the other ones. Rel had imposed on the Federation and the Vulcans every last detail of how the delivery would play out. The cortege started its descent to the planet, gracefully curving over the horizon before the shuttles came to land in front of the complex.

xXx

"They've landed, Leader!" Pashat called. Through the fortified window, they could see the six shuttles neatly aligned in front of the complex, the two smaller shuttlepods in front and the two Andorian shuttles at the rear. The Vulcan shuttle was another couple of hundred yards away, at the limit of the breathable air.

From this point on, everything needed to happen according to a strict timetable. Rel had made sure all the Followers knew exactly how things were to proceed, repeating the instructions at every turn wherever he found them, while the Zaak 4350 continued blinking in a corner of the operations room.

The door of the first shuttlepod went up, allowing a glimpse of the inside before the pilot and co-pilot stepped out, hands in the air. Three terrorists came out of the complex, walking two hostages under heavy guard between them. Two Andorians climbed inside the shuttle while the third held the human crew at gunpoint. They came out and nodded to the other one, who released the hostages. The last Andorian climbed aboard the shuttlepod while the Humans walked the hostages to the Vulcan shuttle waiting in the distance, catching the arm of the woman as she stumbled, probably from hunger and exhaustion.

The door of the Vulcan shuttle was open and the hostages and the human crew stepped inside. Archer suddenly narrowed his eyes. One of the silhouettes in the shuttle looked familiar. Did he really see it? Somehow he already knew the answer. It was with great self-control that he turned to Soljark "Was that Dr. Phlox?"

"Yes, the doctor requested to be part of the rescue effort."

Archer had to clamp down hard lest he let out a stream of profanities. Sometimes Phlox forgot that he was part of Starfleet and that there was such a thing as a chain of command. Even if one was a doctor and under an admittedly different chain of command. Even if one was delegated to a Vulcan ship. And that meant one did not participate in a rescue effort without at least informing, forget about asking, one's Captain about it. He would address this with the doctor himself when he came back, hoping really hard that he did come back.

xXx

Rel was ecstatic. Everything was proceeding according to plan. The Vulcan shuttle would stay where it was until all twelve hostages had been released and the terrorists had left. Same with the rest of the hostages, those that couldn't fit on the shuttles. And those that were part of the exchange for the kids. That was the terms of the agreement. He chuckled at his ingeniosity. They had no idea what was in store for them.

"Are the hostages ready?" he called. They would take five hostages on each of the four largest ships, two on the small ones. They could always stand if there was not enough room.

"They've been assembled." Schror answered. "All, except the Starfleet one, as per your orders."

Rel turned to Kalias with a grin in his antennae "Time to get our prized asset."

The containment room was almost empty, only six hostages remaining, the ones that had come in exchange for the kids. All the others had already been collected by Schror, methodically emptying one room before going to the other. Rel motioned to one of the guards and he turned off the forcefield while his colleagues kept their rifles pointed at the hostages. They would remain at their post until the end, when Rel's shuttle took off with them on board.

Rel went over to the Starfleet female "Get up!" he said, and kicked her in the leg. She opened her eyes with some effort, seeming to wonder what was going on.

The hostage next to her made a motion to help her. "Not you!" barked Rel.

"She needs help, she is wounded." Sverig calmly looked up. "She won't blow me up" he added. Kalias and the two Followers with Rel hastily took a step back and Rel shot them an angry glare. Sverig used the slight diversion to get up and help a very groggy T'Pol to her feet. He kept her arm over his shoulders, half-holding her as she swayed upright. He could feel the furnace of her fever through the thermal suit. But it was essential she look as if she was still standing. He was worried that the terrorists would finish her if they realized how sick she was.

Rel seemed to consider, then he nodded and they started on their way, Sverig holding T'Pol upright as she mechanically stepped forward.

xXx

The representatives were following the events from the war room of the Khun Rip, except for Trip, watching with the bridge crew on the main screen of Enterprise. The images were also being relayed real time to the Vulcan ships, out somewhere at the edge of the quadrant. All had watched as six sets of two hostages were brought out and the Human crew of each vessel, even of the Andorian shuttles, the Andorians did not want to even be remotely associated with the terrorists, walked them to the Vulcan shuttle in the distance.

Finally, the door of the Vulcan shuttle closed, a pre-arranged signal that all on board were accounted for, and powered down, as demanded by the terrorists.

Then the first group of terrorists came out, two manacled hostages among them, and climbed aboard the shuttlepod. Trip looked incredulously at the eight of them, wondering how they were going to fit. Unless the hostages remained standing… The shuttlepod took off.

One by one, the other vessels took off, once they were filled to the brim with terrorists and bound hostages, until finally the last Andorian shuttle was the only one remaining on the ground, with the Vulcan shuttle and the released hostages at a good distance.

At long last a large group of Andorians made its way towards the remaining shuttle, two Vulcans slowly walking behind them, the taller one holding the smaller one up. Trip realized with a start that was T'Pol. And she was obviously not doing well. Hoshi turned to look at him from the Captain's chair and he nodded that he was okay. Four more hostages were walking behind her, hands bound behind their backs. A small Andorian could be seen in the doorway.

"That's Rel" Kyres's voice came over the open channel between the ships.

It was time. Trip signaled to Hoshi and took off at a run.

xXx

"Kalias, Pashat, it's time!" Rel called out to where the last Followers were waiting inside the complex. His antennae started darting on his head in amusement and pleasure. The Federation and the Vulcans would never guess what was going to happen. He almost laughed out loud at the thought.

Kalias and Pashat ran into the armory, whooping with excitement and laughter, their antennae quivering. Everything had been set-up already. All they needed to do was pull the trigger.

"You've got the shuttle?" she asked.

"In my sights" Pashat replied.

xXx

"They're putting the plan in action!" Kyres announced from the war room. "Everyone ready?!"

"We're on it!" Trip's voice came over the intercom. "We're ready" his counterpart called from the transporter room of the Khun Rip.

"Enterprise, we're going to feed you the coordinates" Kyres called again. The image on the main screen was replaced by the green on black stream from the sensors. Everyone in the war room had their eyes riveted on the screen. They could see the heat readings of four Vulcans on the first floor of the complex, and, diametrically opposite, the heat readings of the fifteen hostages remaining on a higher floor. Four Andorian guards were still posted at each location. Another two Andorian heat signatures were rapidly crossing the building, the sensors showing their progress through the tunnel and into the armory. Rel’s biosign remained in the doorway.

The Andorian technicians at the reading monitors were working fast, fingers flying over their keyboards, antennae reflecting their focus. "We have them!" one called. He turned his headphone on, talked loudly and clearly "First group, height 0.3 _zhiks_ , inside 25 _zhiks_ , sideways 14 _zhiks_ , Second group, height 20.3 _zhiks_ , inside 05 _zhiks_ , sideways 04 _zhiks_ "

The guards suddenly left their posts at a run. "Go!" Kyres shouted over the feed. "We have no time!" Kyres shouted again.

xXx

Kalias set off the delayed detonator to the explosives that had been carefully assembled around the weapons in the armory.

"We have ten seconds!" she called, and Pashat and her ran out at breakneck speed, exiting the complex at full speed, and jumped into a waiting shuttle right after Rel and the eight guards. The shuttle took off.

A flash of light illuminated the entire complex and the Vulcan shuttle exploded, hit by a photonic bomb.

xXx

On the screen, they could see the armory's walls swell out as the explosives started blowing up. The explosion spread outward towards the operations complex, and then engulfed it. The entire building blew up as a tower of smoke rose to the sky.

"What do we have?!" Kyres bellowed as the representatives stood in tense silence, waiting to hear.

Silence was the only response. They could have heard a pin drop.

A feminine voice broke through "Recovery teams, acknowledge." That was Captain T'Kullyl.

Seconds ticked by, each more weighted than the last. Suddenly, an Andorian spoke over the intercom "We have six Vulcans." There was a dark undertone to his voice. Soljark blinked. Nobody moved.

Silence descended again.

Finally, Trip's voice could be heard over the open channel "Enterprise here, we have recovered ten hostages." Trip's tone was grim "We couldn't get the other three."

Trip bent over the transporter controls, exhausted, while the last V'Shar agents stepped off the platform. He had beamed them up in the nick of time, had been afraid he had lost them in the disruption of the explosion, but had finally been able to coax them back together. His gaze turned to the empty platform, and the hostages that should have been there, if they only had a little bit more time.

Thanks to the eavesdropping worm they had known about Rel's plans to destroy the Vulcan shuttle, blow up the armory and the operations complex and kill all the remaining hostages as they left the planet.

They had started transporting everyone on the shuttle to Enterprise as soon as the door to the Vulcan shuttle had closed. But they couldn't do anything about the hostages still in the complex until the guards left their posts. Rel had to believe he had succeeded, or those he had taken with him would be at risk.

In the end, they'd only had fifteen seconds to transport the remaining nineteen hostages. And the Enterprise and the Khun Rip together could only beam so many at a time. They might have been able to save everyone if the hostages had all been in the same room. But the last eleven were split, four on one level and seven on the other. The Kuhn Rip had beamed three of the four, and Enterprise five of the seven. And then the complex had erupted into a ball of fire.

It was the best outcome.

And it sucked to high hell.

xXx

The shuttles had been flying for hours now, and Rel and the Followers were finally starting to relax. After cheering the destruction of the complex and the killing of all the hostages, the terrorists had regrouped parsecs away from Sterth Vega and they had set course for the Uglu-Proom asteroid field, where the shuttles would be easy to hide and very difficult to find. Once they came out on the other side of the asteroid field, they would loop around and fly back to the remote outpost where they had been hiding before Sterth Vega III and where Rel had developed his views about life and Andoria.

Very few knew of the route through the quadrant. Even though he knew the starships would not follow them lest they take it out on the hostages, Rel couldn't believe the Vulcans would not be animated by vengeance after he betrayed his word and killed so many of them. But they would never find them or their hiding place. He was certain of that.

Once they had reached the safe base, they would regroup and start planning their next operation. It would be a simple matter of adjusting their objectives and trying again. The Empress may initially not be pleased with him but he would explain and she would turn around, realizing the power that Rel yielded and how he would make a good consort. He had never felt so hopeful about the future.

xXx

Sverig was visually and mentally taking everything in, cataloguing it for future use. He was the only V'Shar agent on the shuttle with T'Pol, they were possibly the only ones left from the entire taskforce, if he were to believe the explosions and cheers that had accompanied their take-off.

He grieved for the other agents, the comrades-in-arms he had trained with on the Fo-Dan, when T'Pol and he had no idea why they had been recalled. As the sole able V'Shar agent on board, logic dictated that he try and kill Rel. If he were successful, the lives of the other hostages might be spared. If he did not act, they would not. Probabilities were that he would be killed in the process and that he only had one chance to act. He needed to figure out the most optimal among all potential scenarios.

He was seated on the floor with the other four hostages, crammed between the last bench and the back wall, hands bound behind his back, with very little view of the outside space. T'Pol was seated next to him, her back against the wall, breathing shallowly and rapidly. They hadn't manacled her, it was obvious she was not a flight risk. Suddenly he saw her slump slightly forward and to the side and realized she had lost consciousness. He angled his shoulder so that it was just behind hers, then softly pressed forward. Gravity did the rest and she fell further, coming to half-rest on his lap.

The contact was almost too much to bear, and that was only partly because of the heat that emanated from her feverish body. Sverig leaned back against the wall and busied his mind with escape scenarios. There was not much he could do to make her more comfortable.

xXx

After hours of flying, the asteroids visible through the front window gave way to the starred fabric of space. Other than the hostages, everyone on the shuttle had relaxed in various poses.

"Leader! Ships! Right in front of us!" the sudden shouts abruptly brought everyone back to full attention. Sverig craned his neck trying to see through the front window, his sight blocked by the bodies of twenty-five or so Followers half raised from their benches. In what he could see, the velvet black of space had been replaced with the metallic angles of a starship, he knew from the ochre hues it was a Surak-class ship. So they had found them after all. Logic seemed to indicate they would not destroy the shuttle while the hostages were still on board. The Andorians around him were agitated, on the verge of becoming volatile.

"These are Vulcan ships!"

"How did they find us?!"

"I don't know, Leader, nobody else knows that route!"

In the front of the shuttle, Rel was leaning over the pilots, looking out the window at the enormous starships that was too large and too close to be seen in its entirety. Shouts were coming over the intercom from the other shuttles.

"Leader, a ship at starboard!" Rel looked outside, saw another four starships flying along the shuttles, far enough yet too close. The ships just sat there, keeping even with the shuttles, not even trying to block their flight.

"What are they doing?!" someone asked.

Sverig felt a familiar tingle.

"They just passed over us!" Rel craned his neck further, looking port-side at the back of the five ships that had just leapfrogged over the shuttles.

"Are they retreating?" Kalias asked at his side.

"The hostages!" someone yelled in the back.

Rel turned around "What?!"

"The hostages are gone!" Rel looked incredulously at the now empty space in the back of the shuttle. He turned around to the piloting crew. The same cry echoed over the open intercom.

"They've taken the hostages!"

"They're all gone!"

"And the ships?"

"They're gone also." Rel looked incredulously at the empty space at their side, his antennae expressing his puzzlement. Did the ships just pop out of the blue, grab the hostages, and fly away?

"Leader, another ship!" Rel's attention was drawn back to the view in front of the shuttle, where another starship had just dropped out of warp speed.

He grinned at Kalias and Pashat "It's okay, it's an Andorian ship."

He saw in the dilated horror of their pupils the reflection of the firebomb that obliterated the shuttle and all that was inside.

xXx

Kyres' antennae were at an angry angle. He would report to the Empress that Rel and his close companions were dead, as she had ordered. If it were up to him, he would keep going and send the rest of the Followers to the ices of the underworld. They were without honor, reneging on their word and planning to kill all the hostages. If it had not been for the listening worm, they would have succeeded.

The Vulcans had not insisted that the rest of the Followers be destroyed. He would have. He stared at the scorched remnants of what used to be one of the Khun Rip's two shuttles, at the other five shuttles stopped dead in their tracks. The Followers were not moving, unsure what to do now that Rel was no more. Kyres was very much tempted to let his fingers slip on the torpedo commands, figuratively, and give the order to destroy them. He could always pin the mistake on the heat of the action.

The five Vulcan starships dropped back out of warp speed right by the Kuhn Rip, forming a concentric circle around the shuttles and blocking all movement. Kyres could no longer destroy them, the Vulcans would bear witness. Enterprise dropped out of warp a few thousand yards away and Kyres gave up all thoughts of retribution.

He could only hope that the Empress had planned a gloriously ignominious ending for the Followers, for those were _azhoor_ born of _azhoor_. He would bring them to her in fetters, may she prolong their agony for the rest of their lives.

xXx

There were fragments of sentences that possibly belonged to entire conversations. Perhaps not. It was hard to tell in the cotton-like atmosphere that kept pulling her back under. They were disjointed fragments. She figured she would align them from longest to shortest. It made logical sense. Some kind of order at least.

"We were able to save the arm"

"You cannot see her right now."

"Can I see her?"

"Come back later."

"When?"

Perhaps all conversations should be ordered in the same manner. What was the longest sentence she had ever heard? And who said it? The white fog called her back.

"I'm giving you this for the pain". She needed to re-order the other fragments, add that one. Perhaps it would all eventually make sense.

Time had stopped. Trip had come by. Sverig had come by also. Trip and Sverig. She had already chosen. It was all there, in the order of the sentences. If she could remember what the order was, she would find the answer.

xXx

"Can I see her?"

Finally, the Vulcan healer nodded. Trip had been trying for two days now, always hearing she was too sick or too out of it. At least the doctors had said early on they were able to save the arm.

The room was quiet, peaceful in the way only Vulcan sickbays could be. She was sleeping or resting, head propped on a pillow, eyes closed. A huge apparatus next to the bed was encasing her arm from shoulder to wrist. He knew that was the nerve regenerator and Phlox had advised him the pain of healing would be atrocious. But they were finally dialing back the painkillers just enough that he could come and see her.

He approached the bed. He remembered having been angry at her, but it was a long time ago and it no longer mattered why. He would always choose to let her free, if that's what she wanted. Not that it wouldn't kill him but he'd rather she be happy somewhere else than unhappy with him.

Her hand was resting on the coverlet. She opened her eyes and looked at him with the punch drunk gaze of painkillers.

"Hey" he said.

That was the word she had been waiting for. Three letters that completed the pyramid. Her hand opened, her fingers blindly finding their way to his hand. He turned his hand palm up and she rested her fingers in his palm.

All of a sudden, Trip felt it. The bond was back. It was a glorious feeling, a firework of emotions that lit up his mind and set his heard in fire. How could he have forgotten? And he knew right then that she would stay with him. She had come back. He blinked away tears, trying hard not to let her see them. She was fading already, her eyelids blinking rapidly.

"I'll be back" he whispered. "You get better."

xXx

"How is your arm?"

Sverig was standing by her bed. She nodded in acceptance of his concern. "It will heal eventually."

Sverig looked down at the bed. "On the planet, when I helped you suppress the pain, I felt that you were bonded with another."

T'Pol looked at him with a sadness bordering on sorrow. "I am already bonded" she softly replied. He would have been a perfectly appropriate bondmate, if she didn't already belong to Trip.

Sverig squared his shoulders "I understand your bondmate is human."

"He is." T'Pol was wondering if the knowledge would render Sverig hostile. That would make their parting uncomfortable yet very easy.

But Sverig, like her, was captivated by what was different. His thoughts were going somewhere else. "Therefore, his life expectancy cannot exceed yours".

She looked at him uncertainly, not sure what he was driving at.

Sverig looked directly at her "It is predictable that I will need to find a bondmate of my own and there is no telling where we both will end up in time. But I would like to entertain the thought that you will contact me if you find yourself without a bondmate."

T'Pol understood that he needed to know she could be available to him, no matter how far in the future and how negligible the odds. Probabilities were that he would find a bondmate before his next Pon Farr and they would never meet again. Without him, she would have died and she felt bound to let him down gently. She nodded her consent.

As Trip walked down the corridor to the Sahriv's sickbay he saw a tall Vulcan coming the other way. Trip stopped in his tracks, staring at the back of the man's head as he walked away.

He wasn't sure why.

xXx

The first crisis of the Federation as a political body had been dealt with, more or less successfully. More successfully when one considered the close to two hundred lives saved, less successfully in light of all the agents killed in action and the hostages killed by Rel. Not counting the hundreds that had died in the terrorist attack on Sterth Vega III. The lives of the terrorists didn't count.

The Vulcan ships and the Enterprise were proceeding at impulse power to Andoria, where delegations from the Federation and from Vulcan were to meet with the Empress. It was the turn of the politicians to act and none of the captains much cared to join the official curtsying. Commander Kyres and the Khun Rip had gone up ahead at warp speed after collecting the rest of the terrorists. There were prisoners to be processed and preparations to be made before the other ships arrived.

Archer gave a passing thought to the sixty-eight Followers which the Khun Rip was holding in a transformed storage bay, in conditions that would have been unacceptable under the Federation flag. But the Vulcans had refused to exercise their Right of Retribution under Andorian Law, which meant that the plight of the Followers was now with the Empress, and Commander Kyres had been very clear about the prerogatives that Andorian Law afforded him where their treatment was concerned.

Vulcan logic had seen no issue in it as the terrorists were under Andorian Law. The fact that the conditions of their captivity was a dramatic improvement on what they had subjected the hostages to was an emotional consideration that had no place in their thinking.

Archer had pleaded their case out of an abundance of ethics. On a personal level, he didn't mind very much when Kyres turned him down in no uncertain terms before taking off at warp speed for Andoria.

xXx

The Empress was pacing her chambers, her antennae twirling in anguish. What was she to do?! Why hadn't the Vulcans just killed all the Followers and be done with them. Or told Commander Kyres to do so. Who cared if he destroyed the Enterprise shuttles?! The Federation had funds, they could buy new ones. When she had told Kyres to behave with restraint, she had not expected him to take her so literally at her word. And now she had to decide the fate of sixty-eight prisoners whose crimes were so appalling they deserved nothing better than an ugly death.

Except that Vulcan had interceded in their favor. No less than T'Pau, too. Vulcans! Such a confusing species, she would never understand them.

She stopped mid-stride, glaring at Okassehr who hadn't moved from where he was looking out the windows on the ice fields of the capital.

"What do you have to say?!" Her tone was imperious.

"Your Highness's back and forth is making me seasick." The old advisor replied. The Empress narrowed her eyes at him. Didn't he realize such flippancy would have earned him death in Andoria-of-old?

Obviously, he was not the one who may have to put sixty-eight people to death. Under Andorian Law, the vileness of their crimes made her supreme judge and jury. The sheer number of them. She just couldn't do it, could she?

"What would you have me do?" This time her tone was plaintive.

"What would you do if there was only one Follower?" Okassehr replied. She looked at him incredulously. If there were only one… she realized she would not kill him. The head of the monster had been cut off with Rel's death. One wayward misdirected Andorian was no threat to society. He would be punished extensively, released only when his mind and body were so feeble that he was no better than refuse.

But sixty-eight of them?!

Okassehr read the question mark in her antennae. "Andoria is stronger than to follow pied-pipers. Red was a madman. His name was stricken from the clan books, as was the names of all his Followers. They have no body to turn to, no grave to mark his passing, and their clan is no more. The name Thoor-Ukh will be stricken from Andoria forever. They will be _zipzham_ "

The Empress couldn't repress a shudder at the thought. There was nothing worse on Andoria than to be clan-less, stripped of one's ancestral identity, a shadow among the living. She knew less than a handful that were, their names and their crimes never mentioned for theirs was a world of shame. She slowly nodded. That was the world the Followers would reside in.

"Make it so."

But there was something else. "How many Vulcans did they kill?" she asked. She knew that Okassehr had given her the number before, she just couldn't remember it.

"Thirty-nine."

Days ago the Followers had pressed her to exchange one Vulcan for each kid. What went around came around. "They will spend thirty-nine years of their lives in jail. Find our world's worst jails, ones where inmates wish daily for death. Make sure they are separated, that there are no friends with them. And if there are not enough jails, reach out to the Klingons. I am sure they have Andorian prisoners in their mines that would want to be exchanged."

"Your Highness." Okassehr bowed deeply and left the Empress's chambers.

xXx

The healer stepped back from the biobed, breaking the connection, turned to the parents. "She is at rest, now, but she needs ongoing care." He turned to Phlox "A medical transport will come pick her up tomorrow."

"Where are you taking her?" Phlox asked.

The young woman's parents stepped forward, the mother taking her hands in hers in a timeworn gesture of comfort the universe over "We are going to Vulcan directly to a special care facility. The healers there will block off her memories in a ritual called the Fullara. She will regain the memories at the point in time when she is able to process the emotions."

xXx

"How many left?" Archer asked Phlox. Now that the crisis was over, the Vulcans had started collecting the children. The reunions happened one at a time, shuttles bringing parents or remaining family members from one of the Vulcan ships to Enterprise and leaving with full or mostly complete family units.

"We have some left." Phlox replied. "Sipyv is still with us until his father is able to get him." Archer nodded. The Vulcan healer who had been transported aboard with Phlox had brought the boy out of his catatonic state. His ailing father had been one of the last hostages snagged from the planet. "He's been in the trauma unit on the Sahriv." Phlox went on. Both men fell silent. That was also where T'Pol was. "The healers are helping him process the death of his bondmate and they expect he can be reunited with his son soon."

"What about the little girl?"

"Arlgreil? Her father and brother are meeting her mother and her on the Sahriv in a couple of days." And then of course there is the matter of those who have no family left. "Phlox was uncharacteristically subdued. "

"They're not planning to leave them here?" Where Vulcans were concerned, Archer didn't know what to expect anymore.

"Certainly not." Phlox was quick to reassure him. "I think they're waiting for the last minute so the kids can spend as much time as possible here. The Vulcan healers agree that the International Medical Exchange Protocol is sound. The more time they spend going through the protocol, the better."

"Basketball?" Jonathan still couldn't quite believe it.

Phlox smiled "On the surface, Captain, on the surface."

"Ok, doctor, let me know where I am needed"

"At this time, Captain, your four-legged companion is needed more than you are. No offense, sir"

"None taken." Archer wryly answered. "I always knew I would end up playing second fiddle to a beagle."

As it turned out, the interaction with Porthos, however light it was, had gone a long way in pulling Sipyv from his dissociative state and it had taken almost no time for the healer to bring him back. As soon as the boy awoke he had latched on to Porthos, who seemed very pleased with his new best friend.

xXx

Phlox knew the tall man who had just stepped into Sickbay from his resemblance with his son. "Come in, come in" he cheerily welcomed him. "We've been waiting for you" The father stood awkwardly in sickbay, looking around to see if he could catch sight of his child.

"Sipyv is going to be here soon" Phlox preempted the question. "I have to warn you, though. Before the healer could take care of him he had started coming out of his catatonic dissociation with the help of a Terran animal. One that is not found on Vulcan. A dog. He just took him for a walk. You might find the smell… distracting."

The man nodded "Anything that helped my son is welcome, no matter its olfactory quality."

"Remember you said that" Phlox muttered under his breath. "Ah, here is the boy" he turned to the doors as they opened.

Archer stepped in, followed by Porthos and Sipyv, who was fussing with the dog. Suddenly, as if drawn by a sixth sense, he looked up from the animal and saw his father. His face lit up and before anyone could intervene he had launched himself at the man like a small torpedo. His dad easily picked him up before he could make contact and just stood there, holding his child. The father was the image of contentment, though not a muscle on his face had changed. The boy's face had completely disappeared against his father's shoulder and he was obviously planning to stay there for the duration.

"This is Porthos" Phlox introduced the beagle. "The Terran animal I was telling you about."

The tall man inclined his head in greeting "Greetings, Porthos" He looked at his son "It is smaller than a sehlat". The boy didn't move but raised his fingers to his dad's psionic points. The father let him and the boy settled even more contentedly in his arms.

Archer understood from Phlox that the abrupt severance from his wife would have killed the man but for the need to remain alive for his son's care. He realized he had been waiting with some foreboding wondering whether the grieving man would be able to take care of the child. He no longer had any doubt.

"Shall we get a sehlat?" the father asked his child. The boy nodded. Phlox grinned from ear to ear. They would be fine.

The father inclined his head towards the boy, said a few words that were met with a nod, and looked at Archer and Soljar "Live long and prosper." They watched him leave, still holding his child.

xXx

Archer saluted the armed guards with a nod, hiding his surprise. He hadn't expected Captain Soljark to come to the ship. Or Captain T'Kullyl. One by one the other members of the Vulcan party introduced themselves and Archer realized he had the captains of the five Vulcan ships on the Enterprise. He looked over at Phlox, at a loss. They had been waiting for the shuttle that would take Tevoc and the other orphans to the Vulcan ships and eventually back to Vulcan.

Soljark eyed him with something akin to humor "Not to worry, Captain, our Sub-Commanders are more than capable of assuming command."

"We were expecting a party to come pick up the remaining Vulcan children," Archer explained in return.

Captain Soljark looked at him wordlessly, then turned around to look at the other captains. "This is the party" he seemed unsure what to make of these strange Humans.

Something in his expression gave Archer a sense of déjà vu and a part of him started waiting in tense expectation for another strange out-of-body experience. But nothing happened and he consciously relaxed. Perhaps the former psionic bleeding from Soljark had been due to stress.

"You honor us with your presence" Phlox said, quickly covering Archer's silence. "The children are ready. I'll have them come to the airlock right away." Those were the ones who had lost all their relatives in the terrorist attack or afterwards. He did appreciate the Vulcans discretion in waiting until all the other children were reunited with their families before they came to pick up the orphans, so they wouldn't have to endure the sights and sounds of joyful, however muted, reunions around them.

"If you believe that is preferable" Soljark said. Archer was still trying to get his head wrapped around the fact he was interacting with Soljark over something that didn't include hostages and rescue plans. And around the captains' presence on Enterprise. Were they relatives of the children? He would have expected non-immediate family members to come and claim the children.

"Are you family?" he finally asked of the group.

"The children will be our guests of honor until we arrive at Vulcan" T'Kullyl told Archer. "Each of us will temporarily adopt them as our wards for the duration." She seemed to have a better understanding about Humans and their need for explanations.

When the entire outfit had left in the shuttle, Archer turned to Phlox "I certainly didn't expect that."

Phlox bounced on the balls of his feet. "Suppressing one's emotions does not preclude familial relationships, Captain. Never underestimate Vulcans' attachment to families."

xXx

Archer looked around the table, glad to be back in his private dining room, with his two most senior and trusted officers. He raised his glass "It feels good to be here."

Trip had never looked so satisfied, as if he were walking on clouds. T'Pol was still pale and the cumbersome exoskeletal brace protecting her healing arm was proving to be quite an impediment to everyday life.

She touched the glass of water to her lips in agreement. "It is good to be back."

Chef interrupted with dinner for all three officers, putting a beautifully elaborate plate in front of T'Pol.

"I see Chef missed you" kidded Archer.

Trip laughed, took his knife and fork and leaned over to cut the vegetables on her plate. "We'll have to let Chef in on the fact that T'Pol won't be able to cut her own vegetables for a while."

She threw him a long-suffering look "I thought that is what your presence was for."

Trip chuckled, basking in the glow of the bond, like a warm hand around his heart.

 

THE END

 

Notes:

Andorian words were mostly taken from the Andorian English Dictionary.

The characters are the property of Paramount.

[1] Just a reminder that Archer was not in Sickbay when he was believed dead and T'Pol petted Porthos.

Thank you to all my readers, and thank you for the suggestions about the ending.


End file.
